


On the Nature of Daylight

by kkenobi



Series: To the Waters and the Wilds [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Baby Legolas Greenleaf, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Gen, Legolas is a daddy's boy, Multi, No Romance, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole, Thranduil's A+ Parenting, Young Legolas Greenleaf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-03-09 06:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18911299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkenobi/pseuds/kkenobi
Summary: A series of interconnected yet stand-along oneshots, all revolving around Legolas and his relationship with his father.07. *NEW* Towards the end of the Second Age Thranduil's wife convinces him to have a child. It is the best decision he ever made. Ft. Thranduil, Oropher, and a certain newborn elf we all know and love.Prompts welcome!





	1. Why Thranduil wears a Flower Crown

Thranduil froze, holding onto the mithril crown so tightly that it cut into the delicate skin on his palms.  

 

He couldn’t do this.  He couldn’t be the King his people needed.  Not without his father’s guidance, without his wife’s steadying presence, or without his mother’s calm support.  His people had already suffered so much already - they deserved someone far stronger than he. They needed a proper King, not a Prince playing pretend in his father's crown.  

 

He put the crown ( _his father’s crown, not his, never his_ ) gently down on the table near the large open doors leading to his balcony ( _just his now, no longer theirs_ ), barely resisting throwing it into the woods beyond.  

 

He’d managed to avoid having to play at being King in an official capacity thus far, had been able to prioritize settling his beloved people and rebuilding, had mourned his wife and father, as well countless others who’d been killed in the fight against Sauron.  He had worked tirelessly to rebuild Greenwood, to make it once more a haven for the Silvan Elves who’d shown him such love as their Prince. 

 

And now as there King.  

 

His hands tightened on the balcony railing, and he willfully fought back tears.  He’d cried enough these past months. He refused to cry more. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and listened to the sounds of the forest.  

 

The sun was just beginning to rise, casting the forest of Greenwood the Great in its warm morning light. He listened to the birds, just starting to wake, to the night creatures settling down for a day of rest.  The wind rustled through the leaves, bringing in warm winds, heralding the coming spring. The trees were happy, he noticed, finally opening his eyes again. Sauron’s darkness was gone ( _for now, not forever, he was still waiting_ ) and they were able to bask in the light, bask in the love and care of the elves.   

 

And, he thought, finally smiling to himself, the trees were able to love their own precious Greenleaf. 

 

Thranduil turned from the balcony, moving gracefully over to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching out a hand to stroke his son’s ( _his reason to live, his only solace, the only reason he'd not faded from his grief_ ) pale hair back from his face, feeling his breath catch in his chest.  

 

Legolas made a soft sound in his sleep, smacking his lips.  He, like most elves, was used to rising with the sun, and was slowly stirring into wakefulness.  Thranduil stayed beside him as he woke, studying the beloved features. The pert nose, the flushed baby cheeks, the bright green eyes glazed over as he walked in elvish dreams… Those eyes, so like those of his beloved, focused on him as the small elfling woke for the day.  

 

“Ada!”  

 

Thranduil smiled, pushing all of his worries and fears away.  “Good morning little leaf,” he said quietly, stopping stroking Legolas’ chin length hair in favour of cupping his chubby cheek, still rounded from babyhood.  

 

His child stretched, dislodging his hand, before sitting up, looking impossibly small in his nest of blankets.  He held out his arms, asking without words to be lifted up. Thranduil chucked softly, indulging the toddler. His wife had always teased him that he was far to indulgent with their elfling, teasing Thranduil had born gracefully, for he knew it was true. He’d never imagined himself having children, especially not with Sauron rising in power as they courted and fell in love under the watchful eyes of the Silvan people, but she had managed to convince him.  His father and mother had been surprised when they’d announced the coming child, but the Silvan elves they ruled over had not. His wife was Silvan herself. They knew the power a child could bring, the light that they carried. 

 

Legolas was his last link to her.  Her goodness, her kindness, her very essence.  His son shared his pale blond hair rather than her dark brown, but his bright green eyes, slighter build, the openness of his heart, his ability to connect to every living thing around him… that was all her.  Even Oropher, his stern and at times cold father, had not been able to stay so for long around the light that was Legolas. He only hoped his son would remember his mother, grandsire, and grandmother.  

 

He carried the happy toddler over the the balcony, knowing his son wanted to bask in the morning light.  He was so connected to their forest already. 

 

“Ada, look!”  

 

Thranduil shook himself from his musings, focusing instead on his son’s face.  Legolas’ green eyes were wide with wonder, bow lips parted in awe. His thumb was slowing slipping from his mouth, causing a trail of drool to fall onto his cream nightshirt.  Thranduil wiped it away without a second thought. He and his beloved had tried to break him of his thumbsucking habit, but Thranduil didn’t have the heart to push it. Not now.  Legolas deserved whatever comfort he could find. How he’d remained so light and pure Thranduil did not know. So many of them had died. Legolas had lost his mother and his grandfather to Mandos, and his grandmother had sailed to Valinor, the pain of losing her husband to great.  Thranduil did not know how she had not faded herself. He knew if anything were to happen to this precious life in his arms, if he had not had a reason to stay when his wife had… 

 

“Ada,” Legolas giggled, pleased as only a child could be when they caught their parent’s mind wandering from where it was supposed to be.  “You’re supposed to be looking!” 

 

“I’m looking at you, ion-nin.”  

 

Legolas giggled again, thumb inching back into his mouth.  “At that Ada,” came the muffled voice, filled with joy and a child’s impatience.  He pointed with his other hand. 

 

Thranduil followed the chubby finger, taking in the forest again.  The tree nearest to the balcony was flowering, petals floating down all around them.  The sun had risen more, bathing the world in light. Legolas giggled, leaning fearlessly in his father’s arms, trying to grasp at the petals with the hand that wasn’t in his mouth.  As he watched the tree shook itself, allowing more petals to fall. 

 

He raised an eyebrow.  Only a toddler, barely out of babyhood, and he already had the forest wrapped around his littlest finger.  

 

“Ada, I caughted one!”  

 

“Caught, little one,” he corrected automatically, grinning at his child’s excitement.  

 

“I caught one,” Legolas dutifully corrected.  “Look!” 

 

“So I see,” Thranduil said, bringing up a hand to stroke the blossom.  The pale flower seemed to sparkle with morning dew. Legolas took it from him, gentle as only a wood elf could be, and glanced between the bloom and his father.  His bright gaze briefly focused on something over Thranduil’s shoulder, before going back to his father. Slowly, consideringly, he put the flower behind his father’s ear.  

 

“For you, Ada,” he said, cuddling into his father’s welcoming arms.  Thranduil held the small body close. 

 

Thranduil half turned to see what had caught Legolas’ attention, biting the inside of his cheek when he saw his father’s crown again.  

 

This precious child… 

 

“Would you like to help me with something very important darling?”  

 

Legolas nodded, cornsilk hair flying everywhere.  It was getting long now, nearly to his narrow shoulders.  He detested having it braided, so it was usually tied quickly to be kept from his face.  His wife had favoured it half down, and Thranduil had kept tying it that way in remembrance to her.  

 

But there would be time for that later.  

 

“Can you help me collect some more blossoms?”  

 

Legolas grinned, scrambling to be put down.  He was steady on his feet now, for all he was still so young, as elves gained control of their bodies far earlier than mortals did.  He darted onto the balcony, chirping a hello to the birds landing on the railing, before gathering up as many flowers as he could. The nearby trees, seeing what their beloved elfling was doing, shook themselves, allowing more of their blossoms to fall.  Legolas laughed brightly, twirling around in the falling flowers. 

 

Watching, Thranduil felt his heart catch in his chest.  He’d been so scared when he’d came back from Dagorlad, that this little light would leave him. That he would be unable to care for him on his own.  That Legolas would miss his mother too much, and fade from this world. But his little leaf had surprised him. Had surprised them all, in the end. 

 

He didn’t know what he had done to deserve this little light in his life, but he would die without him.  

 

“Here, Ada,” Legolas chirped, jumping back onto the bed with his gathered flowers.  Thranduil raised an appreciative eyebrow. More than enough. 

 

“Thank you, ion-nin,” he praised, ruffling the fluffy hair.  Legolas peered up at him with laughing eyes, sleepshirt slipping from his shoulder again.  Thranduil fixed it and smoothed his hair automatically. “Come,” he ordered, settling himself cross legged in the centre of the bed.  Legolas crawled over, settling himself in his father’s lap. 

 

“I know…” his voice caught in his throat, sorrow making it impossible for him so speak.  Legolas twisted in his lap, looking up at him wise a gaze far to wise for his tender years, before leaning up to give him a kiss on the cheek.  

 

“It’s alright Ada,” he said softly, kneeling on his father’s lap to better look him in the eyes.  “I miss them too.” 

 

Thranduil took a deep breath, before crushing the most important thing in his life to his chest.  Legolas went willingly, accepting the love and comfort his father gave him. His poor little leaf… only a toddler, and he’d already lost so much.  

 

“Your Nana wanted to show you this, and I’m afraid I will not be as good at it as she was, but she taught me.  And now, I shall teach you.” 

 

Legolas pulled back, tears rolling down his rosy cheeks.  Thranduil wiped them away, even as his own tears fell. Legolas regarded him seriously for a long moment, before leaning forwards and kissing the tears away, just as his mother had done for him whenever he’d cried.  

 

“You are too pure for this world, ion-nin,” he said, voice choked with emotion as he regarded his wonderful child, the most perfect gift the Valar could have possibly given him.  Legolas cuddled into his chest again, before settling down in his lap. 

 

“We,” Thranduil continued, pulling his own long hair, so like his son’s in colour, over a shoulder.  “Are going to make these into a crown.” 

 

Legolas gasped, before laughing in delight.  “Like the ones Nana made for us when we had a picnic?”  

 

Thranduil nodded, picking up a pale yellow flower.  “Just like that,” he confirmed. “It is a new spring for our people, Legolas,” he said seriously.  “A new dawn.” 

 

“We should put Daerada’s crown somewhere special later,” Legolas stated.  “That way it will be safe and we can always remember him.” 

 

“Good idea,” Thranduil praised, pressing another kiss to the top of Legolas’ head.  “Now, watch me Greenleaf,” he ordered, knowing if he touched on Legolas’ declaration on his father’s crown he would not be able to keep his composure.  There was no need to frighten him. Legolas had already seen far too much of his grief. “First, you twist this…” 

 

Legolas followed his instructions faithfully and carefully, pink tongue peaking out from his lips as he concentrated.  He was too young, his hands too small, to be truly good at it, but by the time he had finished he had fashioned a colourful crown of spring flowers, one that Thranduil would wear with pride.  He himself, at Legolas’ instance, had made a much smaller crown, one better suited to the much smaller head of Greenwood’s young Prince. They had to, as Legolas had firmly pointed out, match.  

 

He could not find it in himself to deny his son anything.  

 

“We need to get you dressed now, penneth,” he said, glancing out the open balcony at the position of the sun.  Galion would come looking for him soon enough. “We mustn’t keep Galion waiting.” 

 

Legolas giggled as his father scooped him off the bed, nibbling at some fruit a servant had brought for their breakfast.  

 

Thranduil finished dressed himself first, pulling on an ornate green robe over his simple tunic and leggings, one that was embroidered with spring leaves and belted it quickly.  He pulled on his boots last, before going over to the small chest beside his ( _it used to be theirs_ ) wardrobe. When he’d returned from Dagorlad, with just a third of Greenwood’s army and without his father or wife, Galion had brought Legolas’ things in, knowing that father and son could not be separated.  He shook out a cream tunic with delicate mithril embroidery ( _it had been her favourite, one she had stitched with care)_ , matching cream leggings, and a sleeveless robe that paired with his. It  _ had _ been his, eons ago, just as his own robe had been his father’s.  

 

“Should we match today penneth?”  

 

Legolas jumped up on the bed.  “Always, Ada!” He confirmed, lifting his arms so Thranduil could help him out of his night clothes.  “We should always match.” 

 

Thranduil chuckled, knowing that Legolas would change his mind soon enough, and helped him into the clothing.  Usually he would omit the outer robe (and Legolas would take off the soft indoor shoes within the hour) but today was an important day. 

 

He left his son’s hair loose, much to his obvious pleasure.  Legolas grinned up at him, comparing the embroidery on their robes.  His was less ornate and heavy, but clearly designed to match the ones his father was wearing.  

 

“One last thing, and then we are done,” Thranduil said, smiling down at Legolas.  Legolas sat down at the edge of the bed, kicking his feet gently, head tilted to the side as he listened to the trees speak to one another.  

 

Thranduil gently picked up the crown of flowers he had carefully made, settling it on his son’s head. “My Prince,” he intoned formally, bowing his head.  Legolas giggled in response, before picking up the crown he had made. He bit his lip, looking up at his father. Thranduil sunk to his knees before the bed, smiling as he steadied Legolas as he stood tip toe on the soft bedding.  He himself had taken after his own father in height, and was tall even for an elf. Legolas, it seemed, would be taking after his mother, and Thranduil’s head was therefore far out of his reach.  

 

“My King,” Legolas said, trying to copy his father’s formal tone and failing.  “We match Ada!” 

 

“That we do,” Thranduil said, scooping his happy child from the messy bed.  He almost felt bad for the servants that would have to clean the petals out of the sheets.  “Now, little leaf, it is time to start the day. Do you think you can help me?” He asked. 

 

“Always, Ada,” came the immediate reply, along with a kiss to his cheek.  

 

“Thank you, ion-nin,” Thranduil whispered.  

 

Legolas smiled in response, already distracted as his father swept him from the chamber and out into the hallway, waving cheerily to the guards as they left.  They waved back happily, completely wrapped around his son’s small finger. 

 

“I was just coming to find you, my King, my Prince!”  

 

“Ada, look, it’s Galion!  Good morning Galion!” 

 

The other elf chucked, dark hair pulled back in a low tail.  He bowed his head at the pair, throwing Thranduil, his friend as well as his king, a knowing look.  “Little Prince,” he smiled. “You look just like your Adar today.” 

 

Legolas nodded, pleased.  

 

“What’s first, Galion,” Thranduil sighed, walking towards his office with long strides.  Galion easily kept up, rifling through the sheets of parchment he held. “The men living in the settlements nearby request an audience, as do the Dwarves of Moria.  They have lost many trading partners in recent years.” 

 

Thranduil fought the urge to groan.  He’d known he’d neglected his duties to the mortal realms (as had all the elves, they had far too much to rebuild) but that did not mean he wanted to deal with them again. Their rulers changed far to often, and with change came renegotiation.  The human’s of Laketown were kind enough, but he did not want to welcome dwarves into his realm. The memories of Doriath still haunted him. 

 

“Will mortals come here?”  

 

Galion and Thranduil exchanged a glance, before Thranduil focused his attention on Legolas.  “At some point, yes,” he answered honestly. “The men who live in the towns surrounding the forest are good men. And we’ll see about the Dwarves.  It would be unkind not to hear them.” 

 

Legolas nodded.  Kindness was important - both of his parents had made that very clear.  “Can I meet them, when they come?”

 

Thranduil took a deep breath, ignoring Galion’s sympathetic glance.  If he were to have his way he would forever keep Legolas sequestered away, safe with him, among the Silvan folk who loved him and would always protect him.  But Legolas was also a Prince, the only elf Prince. He could not stay safe with him forever. “I’m sure that that could be arranged ion-nin,” he replied when he finally felt he could speak.  

 

Legolas whooped with joy, knocking his crown askew.  

 

Galion chucked, and reached over to fix it.  

 

“What else?” Thranduil asked, already dreading the answer.  

 

Galion shuffled through his papers again, though Thranduil was sure he did not need to.  Galion had been his secretary for centuries. “Elrond, Lord of Imladris, sends his regards as well as his sympathies, and would like to forge a friendship between Imadris and Greenwood.”  

 

Thranduil thought this through, ignoring the grins of his fellow elves as he and Legolas made their way to his office.  He’d have to hold court later in the day, but for now needed to get all this tedious work over with. He’d always hated paperwork as a Prince, and now would have much more of it as King.  “I’ll write back to Elrond myself,” he finally said. He’d met the other elf at Dagorlad, and again at the Battle of the Last Alliance, and knew he was ultimately kind and just. He was also courting the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn, his distant cousin Celebrian.  That alone would lead Thranduil to meeting with the Lord of Imladris. He fondly remembered spending time with his younger cousin before Sauron’s rise. 

 

“As you say, Aran-nin.”  

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes, making Legolas giggle.  Galion knew he hated when he stood on formality, and therefore made a point of doing it as often as possible.  

 

They’d finally made it to his large office, and Legolas wiggled to be put down.  Thranduil did so, smiling wistfully as the boy darted over the the guards at the door, greeting them cheerfully.  One of the guards, a ellith named Rîlien smiled slightly at him, while her companion knelt down gracefully when Legolas launched himself forwards.  

 

“Good morning, little Prince,” Toldaer said with a smile.  Legolas hugged him tightly. Toldaer had been one of his father’s guard for centuries, and the Prince had known him his entire life.  He was more unsure about Rîlien, who was often stern, but gave her a smile nonetheless. 

 

“Good morning Toldaer,” he chirped, hugging the tall elf again.  The older elf had nearly died in the war, Legolas knew. He was glad he had not.  

 

“Your Majesty,” Toldaer said formally, standing with the elfling in his arms.  

 

Thranduil gave the guard a small smile, accepting his squirming child back.  “Toldaer, how is your arm?” 

 

The dark hair elf stretched his right arm, which he’d nearly lost in battle, obligingly.  “It is nearly fully healed Aran-nin.” 

 

“I am glad,” Thranduil said honestly.  They had lost far to many in the war. 

 

“I’m thirsty Ada,” Legolas interrupted, breaking the moment.  The guards both chuckled, before opening the door to admit their King and Prince, Galion trailing in after.  

 

“There is water and apple juice, your highness,” Galion said, shuffling through his papers again.  Thranduil put his child down when they entered the brightly lit office, and Legolas immediately darted over to “his corner”, a small area of the office Thranduil (and Oropher) had set up for the elfling.  Elves did not believe in sending their children away, even if they were working, and made sure Legolas had a place in which he would be comfortable. There were pillows strewn on the ground, as well as several plush blankets, and a wooden box holding several of Legolas’ toys and books.  

 

Galion followed the Prince, stopping only to set his papers down and fetch the toddler a drink.  “My Prince?”

 

“Thank you Galion!”  Legolas said, grabbing the cup in two hands and guzzling the juice.  Thranduil looked at him in bemusement. Perhaps he was hitting a long overdue growth spurt?  

 

Galion left the prince to his own devices once he ensured the drink would not be spilt, coming over to his King, who had settled into the comfortable chair behind the large desk that dominated the room.  

 

“Aran-nin?” 

 

Thranduil closed his eyes.  He was ready for this. He had to be.  He would spend the morning going through the missives that had been piling up while he and his realm recovered.  Then, after lunch, he and Legolas would go to the throne room, holding court as King and Crown Prince in an official capacity for the first time since the war.  The last time formal court had been held Thranduil had still been Heir Apparent, and Legolas has been off with his mother.

 

His eyes drifted to his beloved child once more.  He’d refused Galion’s offer to remove the flower crown for safe keeping, and was doing an admiral job at keeping it neat and tidy on his head as he played with his wooden horse.  His own flower crown sat lightly on his head, and felt much more natural than his father’s mithril circlet. 

 

From the open balcony doors daylight flooded the room, casting everything, from the books covering the walls to his happy son, in its warm light.  This was a new day for the elves of Greenwood. A new spring. A new age for them all. 

 

“I am ready.”  

 


	2. A Visitor from Imladris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond is the first Elf Lord to visit Greenwood at the beginning of the third age, the first ruler to greet Thranduil as a King rather than the Crown Prince. He would not admit it, but he was terrified. He was not, however, expecting the King of Greenwood the Great to meet him with his tiny son on his lap, chewing on his hair.

Elrond Peredhel, Lord of Imladris, rode through the gates of Greenwood the Great nervously.  Its former King, Oropher, had been a cold and distant elf, one who Elrond was  _ sure _ did not like him.  He’d met the son, then Crown Prince Thranduil, during the War.  Thranduil had been stern, taller even then Elrond, and had a stare on him that would intimidate even the bravest of souls.  He was also a brilliant fighter, and rumour had it had tried to prevent his father from charging at Dagorlad. The Prince had managed to scrape together the rest of Greenwood’s army, the fay and fell Silvan elves, and rebuild Greenwood.  Thranduil had apparently attempted to declare himself a simple Lord, but his people would not hear it. And thus, Thranduil, the elf many found too proud and too quick to anger, had been declared King of Greenwood the Great. 

 

The Silvan elves had to see something in him that Elrond and his fellows could not.  

 

Elrond shook himself slightly, knowing he was being too hard on the other elf.  They’d barely spoken ten words to one another after all. The rest was just rumour.  Thranduil’s somewhat distant cousin, the wonderful Celebrian, spoke highly of him, as did her father Lord Celeborn.  The Lady Galadriel was more reserved in her judgment, but that was normal for the ancient elf. 

 

Elrond had elected to come alone, save for two guards.  The roads were mostly safe now, and he was able to defend himself from the rare pack of roving orcs.  Erestor had been cross, but Elrond had needed him to govern Imladris in his absence. Elrond suspected his longtime friend and counsellor simply wanted to see him put off balance by the Elvenking, and was annoyed he wouldn't get the chance.  

 

“Mae Govannen, Lord Elrond,” a deep voice called out.  Elrond looked up, seeing a slender elf with long dark hair and equally dark eyes giving him a neutral look.  

 

He nodded formally, dismounting from his horse.  Behind him his companions did the same. Wood Elves instantly appeared, taking the horses and their luggage.  “Mae Govannen,” he said in return, giving the unknown elf a smile. He was dressed in simple robes, but carried himself with a great deal of confidence.  

 

“I am Galion, senechal to Aran Thranduil,” he introduced himself.  “Welcome to Greenwood.” 

 

“Thank you, Lord Galion,” Elrond replied, respect for this elf rising.  He wore no symbols of adornment for one in such a high position, and had an air of quiet confidence to him.  

 

Galion chuckled lightly, gesturing for Elrond and his two companions to follow him.  “Just Galion, if you please,” he said. “Your chambers are prepared for you,” he continued, “as I am sure you would like to rest and refresh yourselves after your journey.  Food can be brought to you in your quarters if you wish, or you are more than welcome to eat in the Great Hall. Aran Thranduil is otherwise occupied in one of the settlements nearby, but will be back at the palace to meet with you tomorrow.”  

 

“We arrived early,” Elrond responded immediately.  “Please accept my apology for the inconvenience.” 

 

Galion waved him off again, leading him and his guards through the bright hallways of Greenwoods palace.  Vines crept inside, and small woodland animals scurried across their path. It was exactly like what Elrond expected the palace of the King of the Wood Elves to look like.  They followed a meandering path, watching as Galion called out greeting to various elves and as woodland creatures fluttered about chattering away. Elrond had the distinct impression they (along with the trees just outside) were gossiping about him and his companions, but resolved not to ask.  He didn’t need to know. 

 

Several turns later Galion stopped.  “Here, my lords, are your chambers for you stay.”  He gestured to two doors, the doors invitingly open.  “Lord Elrond, if you would follow me a bit more?” Elrond wondered if the trees had carried the news of his bringing two companions, allowing Galion the time to prepare chambers.  He had, after all, said he was coming alone in his initial correspondence. 

 

Elrond nodded reassuringly to his guards raised eyebrows, stifling a laugh when they darted into their seperate rooms for a much needed bath and rest once they’d been assured of his permission.  Galion led him a short way more, before stopping before a brightly lit room. 

 

Elrond was impressed despite himself.  The room was beautiful, and reminded him of the tales his elders had told him of Doriath - little wonder, as Oropher had been a prince of that long ago elven realm.  The stone walls were washed with a white paint, making the room feel even lighter and larger. And, as with everywhere he’d seen thus far in the palace, plants were everywhere.  

 

“I hope the room is to your satisfaction?”  

 

Elrond turned to smile at his guide.  “It is beautiful Galion, and very peaceful.  Thank you.”

 

The  seneschal nodded to him.  “There is running water for a bath if you would like.  A servant could be sent or…?” 

 

“I would prefer to run it myself,” Elrond confirmed, wanting some time to himself after the journey.  

 

“Very good my Lord.  Would you like your supper sent here?”

 

“No, thank you,” Elrond responded immediately.  “I would be happiest to eat in the Great Hall.” 

 

“Of course,” Galion said, as though he’d expected nothing else.  “Dinner begins at 6:00, though there are always elves in the Great Hall socializing amongst each other.  Any of the guards will be able to direct you there,” he finished, clearly sensing that the elf lord wanted to be alone with his thoughts.  

 

“Hannon le, my friend,” Elrond said, truly appreciative.  He hadn’t been sure what type of reception he would receive in Greenwood, but so far all of his expectations (some of them admittedly misplaced and judgemental) were being surpassed.  

 

Galion bowed once more, before leaving the room on silent feet, and closed the wooden door softly behind himself.  Elrond sighed, stretching his back as he observed the room. A large bed covered in white sheets and inviting pillows drew his attention, the four posts carved into the shape of vines and covered with gauzy curtains.  He resisted the urge to lie down in the bed, and instead made his way to the adjacent chamber for a bath. 

 

It would be most rude to show up for dinner smelling of days spent travelling.  

 

**_#_ **

 

Thranduil adjusted his sleeping elfling in his arms, making a soft shushing sound when the toddler made a noise in his sleep.  It was late, far later then he wanted it to be, but that could not be helped. His meeting with the elves of the outlying settlements in Greenwood had taken far longer than he’d planned for.  He suspected the only reason they’d acquiesced to his leaving was little Legolas requesting to go home, as he would not be able to sleep without his stuffed wolf. 

 

No elf could resist a child, and Legolas was particularly charming if he did say so himself.  

 

A large part of him still could not believe that the Silvan people wanted him to be their King.  He had been content to live among them in peace without ruling them, but his people had not accepted that.  He had been their prince, the one who had fought for them and fought with them. The Sindar prince who had married a Silvan commoner.  Who had learned their language and listened to their woes. They would accept nothing else than his becoming King. And they adored his son. 

 

He’d expected to meet with the leaders of the settlement, but instead had been drawn into a day of merrymaking.  Legolas, his little light, had had the time of his young life. The youngest member of this particular settlement had been several centuries his elder, so his little leaf had been suitably adored. Thranduil did not think a moment passed where someone or another hadn’t been playing with the toddler.  

 

Thankfully, elves did not become spoiled.  

 

He rode through the gates, Legolas a warm weight in the sling across his chest, to the soft greetings from his people.  Most were asleep, or dancing under the stars in the open clearings nearby. The few elves on duty knew to be quiet, especially when they noticed the tiny elfling held against their King’s chest.  

 

“Mae govannen Aran nin,” Falasser, one of the Captains of his guard greeted softly.  He came up to Thranduil, holding his elk steady so the King could dismount without jostling the young Prince.  

 

“Hannon le, Falasser,” Thranduil said, giving the much younger elf a tired smile.  The captain bowed, before leaving, taking his loyal elk with him. 

 

Thranduil stood in the courtyard for a moment, feeling the peace that permeated the palace.  His people were happy. The trees were happy. He himself could feel his Legolas’ heartbeat, feel his soft breath, sense that the most important thing in his world was safe. He was not happy, he did not know if he could ever be truly happy again without his wife by his side, but he was content enough.  

 

Legolas made another baby sound in his sleep, and Thranduil chucked softly.  “Time for bed penneth,” he murmured. 

 

“Sire!”  

 

“Galion, I did not expect to see you awake,” he smiled, making his way into the palace.  His senechal kept pace beside him. 

 

“I spent some time speaking with Lord Elrond of Imladris,” Galion explained, though he was not looking at Thranduil. He, like nearly everyone else when confronted with a sleeping elfing, was watching Legolas sleep with a soppy expression on his youthful face.  

 

Thranduil raised a dark brow.  “He is here already?” 

 

“He apologised,” Galion said.  “And says he is quite content to explore Greenwood until you are able to meet with him.  Last I saw him he was entertaining a group of out warriors with a story of his own youth.”  

 

“I shall meet with him tomorrow,” Thranduil mused.  “Best not keep him waiting.” 

 

Galion shook his head as they stepped through the door leading to the royal quarters.  “I do not think he would mind either way Aran nin,” he mused. “He had exceeded my expectation.  Especially considering he is a Noldor.” 

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes.  “Don’t let anyone hear you say that.”  

 

His oldest friend laughed at him.  “Truly though, I believe you will like this Lord Elrond.”

 

“As always, I trust your judgment.”  

 

Galion rolled his eyes at his sarcastic comment, before opening the door to his bedchamber for him.  He knew he should start trying to have Legolas sleep in his own bedchamber, which was still technically the nursery just off of his father’s bedchamber, but he could not bear the idea of being separated from his son.  Legolas was the last bit of his beloved, the only reason he had not faded at her death, which had come so soon after the death of his father and nearly a third of Greenwoods armies. And Legolas himself was barely out of babyhood.  There was no need to force him to grow up, to force him away from his only remaining family. 

 

“Good night sire,” Galion said, before giving the sleeping bundle in his arms a quick caress.  He was gone seconds later, so silent that even Thranduil could no hear his departure. 

 

Choosing to ignore his old friend, as he often did, he lifted Legolas from the sling and gently placing him in the middle of the bed, least he roll off and onto the stone floor.  His son wiggled slightly, before slipping more deeply into elvish dreams. Thranduil dressed himself for sleep quickly, thankful that he had undressed Legolas down to his tunic before placing him in the sling.  He didn’t want to wake him needlessly. 

 

A large part of him was nervous to meet Elrond, who was well renowned throughout Middle Earth.  They’d met before during the war, but not for long enough to form any lasting bond. Hopefully they could change that now.  Sauron was not truly defeated after all, and they would all need as many allies as they could get. 

 

As though sensing his father’s tumultuous thoughts Legolas began to wake up, green eyes focusing on his father’s form silhouetted by the light of the stars.  

 

“Ada?” 

 

“You’re supposed to be sleeping ion-nin,” the king whispered kindly, turning away from the open balcony to sit on the edge of the bed.  

 

“So are you,” Legolas yawned, thumb inching towards his mouth.  Thranduil chucked, maneuvering himself under the covers. 

 

“You are correct, tithin lass,” he murmured.  Immediately, Legolas latched onto him, curling himself into his father’s side and falling back into elven dreams almost instantly.  Thranduil took a moment to watch the beloved features, banishing all thoughts of the elf Lord enjoying his hospitality, and allowed himself to follow his son into dreams.  

  
  


**_#_ **

 

Elrond made his way down to the Great Hall, sleep having eluded him once again.  His foresight had been troubling him, and the little sleep he’d managed had not been particularly restful.  Nor had his foresight been clear annoyingly, just snatches of colour and conversation. 

 

No matter.  Visions always sorted themselves out in time, one way or another.  

 

He meandered slowly, taking in the architecture of the palace, appreciating the ample greenery.  This place made Imladris look tame. There was a wildness to its nature, to its very people. Many of his fellow Noldo were quick to deride the Silvan elves (Elrond himself was guilty of this) but after spending the night talking and singing with a large group of them… well, Elrond was having to rethink many of his own prejudices.  

 

The Silvan people were more connected to nature than any other elves he had met.  They heard the voices of the trees constantly, could hear the song of the stars clearly, and (much to Elrond’s bemused surprised) seem to understand the voices of all woodland animals as well.  Elrond wasn’t sure if they were teasing him or not, but they seemed sincere. They also, Elrond noted, knew how to party. When he’d retired to his chambers his fellow elves seemed no closer to seeking their own beds, content instead to continue dancing under the stars.  

 

He could not say he understood them completely, but he was coming to respect them and their ways.  

 

He had not asked about King Thranduil, not wanting to offend his hosts, but had listened to the talk around him. It was at odds with Thranduil’s (and Oropher’s) reputation beyond Greenwoods borders. The Silvan people loved their King wholeheartedly, and his son even more so.  Elrond himself had not children yet, but like all elves adored them. He hoped he would be able to meet the little Prince before he left to return home to Imladris. 

 

He stopped at the entrance to the Great Hall, surprised when he heard someone softly speaking.  It was very early - he had not expected anyone else to be there. He continued walking, glancing into the large room.  Initially he thought there was only one elf, the Elvenking himself, before seeing the small elfling held on his lap. Breakfast was just being set up by the servants in the hall, but Thranduil had a half eaten plate in front on his, one that had clearly been brought out early.  The little Prince was sitting on his father’s lap, holding onto a long lock of pale hair. Thranduil was staring at him lovingly as he chattered away, seemingly not caring about the small honey covered hand gripping his hair. 

 

He looked up.  

 

Elrond immediately felt as though he was being dissected when those blue eyes turned to him and fought the urge to flush.  He and Thranduil were of an age with one another, and both rulers in their own right. Elrond refused to show fear, for all that Thranduil was one of the most intimidating elves he’d ever met.  

 

Even with an adorable toddler on his lap.  

 

“Lord Elrond,” Thranduil said, nodding at him.  “Good morning to you. I did not expect to see you up so early.”  

 

Elrond bowed when he came closer to the King.  The prince, finally noticing him, let go of his Father’s hair, and looked up at Elrond with curious emerald eyes.  Despite his nerves Elrond smiled. The prince was as adorable as his people had claimed. “Aran Thranduil. I am used to rising early,” he explained, not wanting to explain about his foresight.  “I am sorry if I am intruding on your time with your son.” 

 

Thranduil quirked a dark eyebrow.  “No apologies are needed my Lord,” he said, voice kind.  Elrond released a breath. “Please, sit and enjoy some food.”  

 

Elrond sat near the King and Prince, smiling his thanks as a servant brought him a plate of food.  It all looked delicious. 

 

The little prince stopped his observations, turning to his father and chattering away in the language of the Silvan people.  

 

“Sindarin, Legolas,” the King scolded.  “It is rude to speak in front of others in a language which they do not understand.”  

 

“Sorry Ada,” Legolas said brightly, not sounding sorry at all.  The toddler looked back to Elrond, a smile on his adorable face.  

 

Elrond grinned.  The little Prince was one of the most adorable elflings he’d ever seen, and it looked like he knew it.  “Good morrow Prince Legolas,” he said once he’d swallowed a sip of juice. 

 

Legolas’ smile widened.  “Hello Lord Elrond,” he chirped in his high child’s voice.  He was not able to properly say ‘Elrond’ in his tender years, so it came out as ‘Elwond’ intead.  Elrond could not bring himself to care. 

 

Thranduil tapped Legolas on the hand when it became apparent nothing more would be forthcoming.  

 

“Oh!  How are you my Lord?”  The child asked slowly.  His speech was slightly slow, as though he was saying something he’d rehearsed several times, but well said and it was apparent he was trying very hard.  

 

“I am very well Prince Legolas, thank you so much for asking.”  

 

The little boy blushed, going back to chewing on a piece of the Elvenking’s long hair.  

 

“And how are you?” Elrond asked gently, not wanting to scare he child, but also wanting to put off talking to his at times terrifying father.  

 

Legolas glanced up at his father, who was sipping from his own goblet, before looking back at Elrond with a shy expression.  “I am well, thank you,” he replied, before darting out a pale hand to grab a piece of fruit off of the plate to stave off further conversation, stuffing it into his mouth.  

 

Above him, Thranduil rolled his eyes, extracting his now sodden and fruit covered hair from his sons mouth.  “A word of advice, Lord Elrond,” he stated dryly. “When you are blessed with children, do not expect to remain clean throughout their tender years.”  

 

Elrond huffed a bemused laugh.  The last thing he’d expected upon meeting Thranduil was to see the King with his small son on his lap, while said son ate his hair.  “I will certainly bear that it mind, Aran nin,” he chuckled, slathering some delicious looking butter on a steaming bun. 

 

“Please,” Thranduil drawled, putting his own mouthful in.  “Call me Thranduil. We are both ruler in our own right.” 

 

“Ada!” Legolas cut in, gesturing excitedly to some birds fluttering in the open balcony doors.  They chirped to the elfling, who giggled at them, nearly tumbling from Thranduil’s lap in his glee.  

 

“I see ion-nin,” Thranduil observed indulgently, watching as a bird dropped a flower onto his elflings head before darting back out the door.  

 

Elrond stared with wide eyes.  Beloved by the forest indeed… 

 

Legolas stood on his father’s lap, wobbling for a moment before Thranduil steadied him automatically, still eating his own breakfast.  The small toddler stood on his bare toes, reaching up to Thranduil’s head. The King had his platinum hair loose, and was dressed in naught but a loose tunic and leggings.  Legolas was dressed in what appeared to be a nighshirt, his own hair slightly sunnier and a complete mess. 

 

“There Ada!” Legolas declared, plopping himself back down to sit on Thranduil’s lap after sticking the bloom behind the Elvenking’s ear. 

 

“Thank you, ion-nin,” The King murmured, bringing a goblet to his son’s lips.  Legolas took a sip obediently. 

 

Elrond smiled into his breakfast.  He no longer thought he would have to be nervous around King Thranduil.  The other elf was still intimidating, was still brilliantly smart, and Elrond was sure they would have some interesting discussions when they spoke more formally.  

 

But no one who doted so much on their child could be anything but kind underneath it all.  

 

The little prince had apparently finished with his breakfast, and chattered away to his father in the Silvan language briefly, switching back to Sindarin when Thranduil raised an eyebrow to him.  “Oops, sorry.” 

 

“It is alright, ion-nin,” Thranduil reassured him.  “Elrond does not mind.” 

 

Elrond started slightly, not having expected being singled out.  “Of course not, Prince Legolas. You speak more languages than I did at your age.”  

 

Legolas stared at him in surprise, as though unable to picture an adult, one that was close in age to his Ade, being a child.  

 

“You will have to excuse us,” Thranduil interjected smoothly, standing with Legolas perched in his arms. The toddler threw his arms around his father’s neck, placing a smacking sticky kiss on the high cheekbone.  “We have an appointment that cannot be missed.” 

 

“We’re going to say hello to the trees in Nana’s grove!” Legolas explained, his voice high pitched and excited, with a slight lisp, indicating still coming teeth. 

 

Elrond stood as well, inclining his head to the King.  “Of course,” he said, smiling once more at Legolas. 

 

Legolas waved cheerfully at him before yammering to his father in Silvan.  Elrond watched the two leave until he could no longer see Thranduil’s tall and slender form, before tucking back into his breakfast, looking forwards to meeting the little prince again.  

 

Unexpected meetings indeed.  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Of Men and Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Men from settlements near Greenwood are coming to reforge agreements from before the War. Thranduil is nervous, little Legolas is curious, and the men are completely charmed.

Thranduil stared after his little son in bemused dismay.  Legolas had begun walking early, even for an elf, but had been content for the most part to stay at one of his parents or grandparents sides.  When his mother and grandfather had died in the War with his grandmother sailing, he’d become even more likely to cling to his remaining parent.  Thus, Thranduil had not needed to worry about keeping an eye on him often. Legolas was endlessly curious, but the animals and trees love him as much as he loved them and would often approach him in his father's arms.  He’d been content to stay there, perched up high on his father’s hip, or on his lap while Thranduil worked in his office or heard petitions from the elves on Greenwood. His councillors adored the little boy, and had taken to bringing sweets to council meetings for the small Prince.  

 

Now, it seemed however, that easy time was over.  Legolas was coming into his own, and his natural curiosity was slowly but surely overcoming his inclination to stay at his father’s side like a burr.  A part of Thranduil mourned that closeness, as he doubted he would have survived without Legolas at his side while they both worked through their grief, but a larger part of him was relieved.  Legolas was fully a toddler now, and ought to be exploring the world around him, not clinging to his father's side at all hours of the day and night. 

 

Thranduil just wished he’d be a little more careful! 

 

“Ion-nin?” He called, following behind where he’d last seen the child.  They were still in the Royal quarters of the palace, so he was not worried, but he also did not want Legolas thinking it was alright to run off without telling him.  Legolas was not naughty persay, but was far too excited to remember something like “rules” or “being safe”. 

 

“Here I am Ada!” He shouted, jumping out from behind a guard.  The guard somehow maintained a straight face, an impressive feat considering the elfling must have been clinging to him piggyback before jumping to his father.  

 

“Did I scare you?”  He demanded, an intent look on his small face.  

 

“Oh, absolutely,” Thranduil replied, sure that Legolas would not pick up on the slight note of sarcasm in his tone.  The guard however did, and quirked a small smile quite by accident. Thranduil noted the reaction by raising an eyebrow, making the young guard blush.  

 

“Arbellason helped me hide,” the toddler confided as they walked down the hall to Legolas’ chambers, Legolas held on his usual perch on Thranduil’s hip. “I like him.”  

 

“I do too,” Thranduil answered back, knowing they were still within the guard’s hearing distance.  Arbellason was young, and younglings were often unsure of themselves, especially when they held such high positions. Best to reassure him.  Thranduil did not want him thinking playing with Legolas was something he would get in trouble for. 

 

“Good,” Legolas declared, as solemn as Elrond.  He’d taken a liking to the Lord of Imladris when he’d visited some months before (a feeling that was entirely mutual) and tried to channel Elrond’s solemn expression in what he felt were important or serious moments.  Thranduil made a mental note to let Elrond know in his next missive to the Lord. He was sure Elrond would be touched by the elflings regard. 

 

“Um, Ada?”

 

“Yes ion-non,” Thranduil said absentmindedly as he nodded his thanks to the guard who opened their doors to their shared chambers.  This guard did not bothering hiding her smile, and crossed her grey eyes at the prince. Legolas giggled, momentarily distracted by his query as he attempted to make the expression back.  Thranduil took advantage of Legolas’ moment of distraction to plop him down on the plush settee in the royal sitting room, before sweeping into his bedroom. 

 

Legolas giggled as he bounced ounce, before scrambling to follow his father.  

 

“Ada?”  

 

“Yes ion-nin?” Thranduil repeated, pulling off the casual robe he’d been wearing in favour of one that was much more ornate.  

 

“Why are you getting changed?” Legolas asked.  Thranduil turned to him, biting his cheek in an effort not to laugh.  They’d spent the early morning in his office, before going to listen to several petitions.  Legolas had look the part of a Prince of the realm then, his white blond hair pulled back into a child’s topknot, and dressed in a simple yet handsome tunic of the palest blue, embroidered with white and mithral designs, worn loose and belted about his small waist with an intricate belt of supple leather.  His house shoes he’d lost early on (most likely during breakfast, if not some time before) but Thranduil knew to pick his battles. Then, after a mid morning snack, Thranduil had decided to take his elfling out into the forest for a quick play. 

 

Now Legolas looked more like a ruffian than a prince of the noblest of lineages. His hair, which had been gently and lovingly brushed that morning, was coming out of the high tail, strands fluttering about his face and neck.  His once pristine tunic was covered in leaves and foliage, and his white leggings had green stains on both knees. His feet, shoeless as they were, were covered in dirt, right down to his toenails. 

 

“You are a mess, penneth,” Thranduil said, finally giving in and laughing.  

 

Legolas looked down at himself in confusion.  “Oh. Oops, sorry Ada,” he chirped, not sounding apologetic at all.  Indeed, he made to leap on Thranduil’s bed. 

 

Thranduil caught him with one hand, holding Legolas’ small wrist in a tight grip. Legolas giggled as he hung in the air from what to him was a great height.  

 

‘“Don’t even think about it messy one,” Thranduil warned, still holding Legolas aloft.  “The servants have already made the bed. It would not be kind to muss it again.” 

 

Legolas giggled, swinging himself gently before Thranduil placed him gently on the floor.  He sank down and crossed his knees in front of his son, brushing the messy hair from the fair and beloved face.  “Now, I need you to listen carefully tithin pen,” he said as seriously as he could when faced with such overwhelming adorableness.  

 

Legolas nodded, knowing from his father’s tone that he must listen very carefully indeed.  

 

“I have to see some men, mortals, very soon in order to discuss some matters.  They are not like elves. You are welcome to come with me, but you can likewise stay with someone else.  Galion would love to play with you, as would Arbellason I am sure. And  Toldaer  has offered to take you to watch the archery practise,”  he added, knowing that watching archery was one of Legolas’ favourite pastimes.  

 

Legolas’ green eyes widened, before narrowing in intense thought.  

 

Thranduil watched him, allowing him the time to think.  Legolas had never met a mortal before, and Thranduil was not sure if he wanted him to at all.  However, Legolas was a prince. He could not avoid meeting other races forever. And he had made a promise to himself never to lie to his son, or purposefully brush him off as his own father had done on several occasions, when he’d thought the situation merited it.  It was just him and Legolas against the world after all. He owed his little son the truth . 

 

“Will… will the mortals be kind?” Legolas finally asked, chewing on his bottom lip.  

 

“Yes,” Thranduil replied firmly.  He would kill them if they were not. “Mortals love little children,” he said, knowing it was true for the most part.  “And even if some of the men coming to talk to me do not they will still be kind to you.” 

 

Thranduil knew he had a a stare like a dragon on him when he thought best, and his reputation as being a fierce warrior and quick to anger would work to his advantage.  None of the men would dare say anything that could possibly offend him, and none would even considering saying something against him bringing his son to an official meeting. Not if they were smart.  And though his opinion of mortal races was not high, even he knew the settlements would be sure to select men of character to meet with him. They knew better than to send someone with prejudices, not if they wanted to reforge agreements.  

 

Legolas looked down at his dirty feet, considering the situation.  He loved watching archery (especially with  Toldaer) , and playing with Galion was always fun.  He had not yet spend much time with Arbellason, but the older elf was a guard in the royal quarters, and always was sure to smile at him.  And meetings could be so boring!

 

But… when would he have another chance to see men?  He was sure he could convince his father to take him to watch the archery practise another time.  Especially if he made his eyes go super wide and he asked extra politely. No one, not even the strict head chef in the kitchens, ever said no to him then. 

 

“I want to come with you Ada,” he finally decided, little voice as formal as he could make it.

 

Thranduil nodded once.  “Then you shall,” he intoned, just as formally. “But first we need to get you presentable.”  

 

Legolas yelped in dismay as he was scooped from the floor.  He had not considered that a bath was a part of this agreement!  

  
  


**_#_ **

  
  


Wulfrun fought the urge to fidget in his seat beside his father, knowing the older man would not hesitate in scolding him in front of the men from other settlements.  He was an adult himself, with a wife and child on the way, but his father sometimes did not care to remember that. And certainly would not if he thought his only son was being rude in the halls of the Elvenking.  

 

Across from him sat two men from a nearby settlement, who he had gotten along with well.  They were brothers in their middle years, and both were quick to laugh and talk to him. Two more men were in attendance, from a settlement further down the river.  One of them, Aldric, was an elderly man who had met with King Thranduil before, back before the War. Thranduil had been a prince then, and Aldric had done most of his dealing with his imposing and terrifying father Oropher.  He’d warned them not to speak of the old King, who had fallen over a decade ago at the Battle of Dagorlad.

 

Rumours had reached the village that many elves from Greenwood had been killed in the War.  They themselves had sent several men, and more had volunteer. All but one had been killed. Wulfrun himself had been to young to go fight, a fact that he was extremely grateful for now.  The man who’d come back was still not right. And if so many elves had fallen… what chance did humans have? 

 

“You’ll be fine boys,” Aldric said, addressing the rest of the table. Wulfrun jumped slightly, and was surprised when his father did the same.  Aldric grinned, pulling on the wrinkles on his elderly face. “We are just looking to rehash old agreements, and pay our respects to King Thranduil.  There’s no need to look so nervous.” 

 

Across from him Padric snorted.  “Are we that obvious?” He asked, a smile twitching under his greying beard.  His brother rolled his eyes before speaking himself. 

 

“I still get nervous speaking to my father in law,” he admitted.  “I don’t know why our tribe chose me to come here.” 

 

Padric elbowed him.  

 

His father moved in his chair, offering the other man a smile.  “Probably because they knew you’ll be respectful then,” he guessed.  “If you’re nervous and polite to yer in-laws, you’ll certainly be so to King Thranduil.” 

The man huffed a laugh.  “Aye, I guess you’re right.”  

 

“Does everyone remember the details of the old agreements?” Aldric asked somewhat pointlessly. But the old man knew they all needed to get their mind off of their nerves. 

 

Aye’s sounded from around the table, as did several nods.  

 

“Good,” the old man said.  “As it's getting to be time.”  

 

Wulfrun swallowed.  He’d been the first to volunteer for this, but now wished he had not.  The journey through the forest had been peaceful, and the elves who had guided them had all been kind, but there was something otherworldly about them all, about the Greenwood itself.  He knew the elves were the firstborn, most beloved by Iluvatar, but it was something else experiencing it for himself. He’d felt like an idiot child for the most part, and the elves had all gone out of their way to make the humans in which they were guiding comfortable.  Considering he (as well as everyone else, though his elders had been better at hiding it) had been nervous around elves who’d called themselves simple border guards, he did not know how he would react to the fierce and fell Elvenking who featured in so many tales.

 

He was said to have fought at the front lines in the War and returned without a scratch on him.  The old King had fallen and rumour held that Thranduil’s wife, a fierce warrior and skilled healer in her own right, had died shortly after, leaving Thranduil with a son barely past infancy. There were many other tales of the King, but this was considered to be fact.  Aldric had warned them all before they’d set off to not even consider mentioning the fallen. Grief hit elves far harder than it did mortals. 

 

He took a deep breath, thankful for the massive open balcony at his back providing fresh and cool air, steadying himself as much as possible.  

 

“You’ll be fine Wulfrun,” his father whispered out of the corner of his mouth.  “You’re a smart lad.”

 

Wulfrun shot father a thankful look, glad anew that his father was such a good man, before his eyes widened.  The large double doors were opening. 

 

They men stood as one as the imposing Elvenking swept past his guards.  He was more beautiful than Wulfrun could have ever imagined - his long hair was so blond it was nearly white and worn loose, framing a noble and handsome profile.  His eyes were so blue they looked like chips of ice in his alabaster face, shadowed by dark lashed and equally dark brows. He was tall as well, far taller than Wulfrun or any man he’d ever met, and the very air around him seemed to quake with energy. Seeing him now, Wulfrun had little doubt the rumours about the Elvenking were true.  He was incredibly thankful that they were allies, rather than enemies.

 

Then he noticed the tiny elf held bundled in the King’s arms.  

 

It was the smallest elf he’d ever seen (though he had not seen many elves to be fair), about the size of a human two summers of age, if not a bit less.  There was little doubt that this was the Elvenking’s own son, as they shared the same pale hair and skin, and strangely dark eyebrows. But whereas the king had eyes of sparkling blue, the little elf’s eyes were as green as new leaves in spring, glittering with curiosity.  He clung to his father, and buried his small head in the King’s neck when he noticed the human’s glancing at him, but Wulfrun could tell he was sneaking glances at them and tried to make his face kind. 

 

“You may sit,” the King said, moving one of his hands in a sweeping motion.  Servants fluttered into the room on silent feet, setting ales, wines, and juices on the table, as well as water and various foodstuffs.  “Please, help yourself to whatever you like.” 

 

Aldric took initiative, as he was wont to do.  “Thank you, your majesty,” he said. “You are most kind.”  He helped himself to some of the water, though Wulfrun was sure he wanted to sample the wine.  Elven wine was apparently the best you could get. 

 

The King nodded graciously, filling a ornate goblet in front of him with wine of the richest red, before filling a much smaller goblet with some of the fruit juice.  He said something to soft for mortal ears, and the little elf attached to him sat up suddenly, taking the goblet and drinking small sips. He looked up to his father with a happy expression (Wulfrun could only prey his coming child would look at him like that!) before settling back against his chest, observing the mortals with wide green eyes. 

 

“I hope,” the king said, voice still perfectly polite but with an edge of danger none could ignore.  “That you do not mind the Price observing the proceedings?” 

 

They all exchanged startled looks, before Aldric spoke again.  “Of course not Majesty,” he confirmed. “All of us, safe Wulfrun there,” he gestured to Wulfrun and he felt the need to sink into his chair and disappear with the King turned to look at him. “Have children of our own. And Wulfrun is due to have his first child come summer.”  

 

Aldric smiled at the little prince. “My grandson looks near in age, or size all things considered, to your son.”  

 

Thranduil raised a dark brown.  “That is good to hear,” he said dryly, though he had to know that none of them would have dared to speak against the prince’s presence, even if they were offended by it.  “Now,” he declared, leaning back in his chair, the most imposing figure any of the mortals had ever seen despite his comfortable position and the tiny elfling on his lap who was now playing with the edge of the King’s ornate sleeve, tracing the elegant designs in the gold thread with a small finger.  “Let us begin.” 

  
  


**_#_ **

  
  


Legolas was beginning to think that Ada had been correct.  This meeting was so boring! Much more boring than when he went with Ada to see his councillors, or when Ada checked to make sure everyone in Greenwood was happy. Or even when he just played in Ada’s office while he did paperwork.  The the big elves would always offer him a smile, or a sweet, and oftentimes someone would take some time out of their day to speak with him or play with him for a bit. 

 

At first he had been interested in observing the mortals, even though Ada had warned him just before they’d entered the large and airy room not to stare.  Staring was rude. Even if it was tempting. Instead he’d contented himself to short glances out of the corner of his eyes, or through the fall of his Ada’s long hair.  Then he’d been distracted for a time comparing the length and colour of his hair and his Ada’s. His own hair was paler then Ada’s (though Ada said it would probably look the same once he was grown - he apparently still had baby hair even though he was now big) and much shorter, reaching a little past his narrow shoulders.  But that had only held his interest for a few minutes. 

 

Now he was bored again.  

 

Ada, apparently sensing his fidgety state, set some fruit and a torn off bit of pastry in front of him, and he reached for the fruit happily.  Ada (and Nana, before she’d had to leave them) had always told him that sweets came last, and he was a good elfling that listened. He nibbled on his bit of strawberry, observing the mortals around the table.  He’d seen pictures of men in his books, and Ada and the other big elves had taught him about them. But they were so much different in person! He desperately wanted to touch the strange hair on their faces, to see if it were rough or soft.  It looked like it would be rough, but he wanted to touch to be sure. They all had some of it, even the ones who kept it so short it was barely visible. One of the men looked very odd indeed to Legolas. His skin was lines like old fruit, and his hair was completely white.  Not like his own hair, which was so blond it appeared to be white, especially in the light of the moon, but properly white! And another of the men had a strange hairless spot in the middle of his head. 

 

He finished his strawberry, picking up a slice of apple that Ada had kindly cut for him.  Ada was speaking now, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. He was speaking Westron though, and Legolas had to concentrate very hard to understand it.  He thought they were talking about the edge of the forest? He lost interest again. Now that he was finished with his fruit, he could finally eat his pastry.  

 

One of the humans with a long beard was talking now, and the others were all paying close attention to him.  All but one, Legolas suddenly noticed. The youngest (at least, the one who’s hair had no grey in it and Ada said mortals hair turned grey with age) glanced over at him!  Legolas smiled shyly, before hiding behind his Ada’s hair again. The human smiled back, winking at him before turning his attention to his companion. 

 

Legolas dared to take another look.  The man who’d winked at him way jotting something down on some paper and not paying attention to him (Ada was talking, so they were being good and polite and paying attention to him) and Legolas found himself bored again.  

 

Ada finished speaking, and the man with wrinkles lining his face started to speak instead.  Legolas considered trying to understand him, it would be good practise after all, but decided against in.  He touched Ada’s sleeve, gesturing at some loose vellum. Ada smiled down at him, dropping a kiss to his brow.  He nodded, but first took a handkerchief and brushed crumbs for Legolas’ hands and face. Legolas bore it with good grace, knowing better than to argue in this setting, smiling up at Ada when he was done.  Ada tucked a stray hair behind his ear (being sure to tickle him gently) before sliding some vellum and a pen and inkwell over to him. 

 

“Try not to spill the ink, alright penneth?” he said in a whisper so low the mortals would not be able to hear.  

 

Legolas nodded, already trying to decide what he would draw.  He’d drawn something for Ada that morning while the older elf had been working in his office.  Ada had loved it, and placed it propped up on one of his bookshelves so everyone could see it. Maybe he could draw something for Elrond?  Ada did say he needed to write to to other elf. Decided, Legolas started tracing lines carefully onto the page, not noticing when his tongue poked out in concentration.  

 

**_#_ **

 

Thranduil smiled slightly at the men.  They had not wanted more then what their settlements had asked for before the war, and had been exceedingly polite about it.  These men were the simple sort. They lived and died in the same village, and knew they did not have much in terms of trading goods.  They simply wanted the rights to as much of the forests deadfall they would need, hunting rights on the forest's edge, and passage through the forest if they were to ever need it.  

 

Thranduil had easily granted all requests.  These human settlements were good allies to have.  And they’d all been sure to smile at his son whenever Legolas dared look at them.  He was sure his son and the humans all thought they were being subtle, but Thranduil could not bring himself to care at what he was sure the humans would see as a breach of etiquette.  They were making his son smile, and ensuring that his first meeting with mortals was a good one, if boring. He would continue to pretend to ignore their interaction. Legolas was distracted by drawing something at the moment though, so Thranduil started to speak again.  

 

“If there is nothing else?”  he said, looking at each of the men in turn.  They exchanged a quick glance, before Aldric spoke up. 

 

“No, King Thranduil, that is all.  We simply wanted to ensure the agreements from before the war were still standing.”  

 

Thranduil raised an eyebrow.  He’d met Aldric before, when the human was considerably younger, and knew him to be a good man.  He knew less of the other mortals, but they had conducted themselves well. As cruel as it was to say, he would most likely never see them again.  The next time he’d talk to humans from their settlements these men would be long dead, and the agreements a long ago memory for the people who lived there.  Such was the nature of mortality. Thranduil could not meet with new leaders constantly. Mortal realms and settlements changed far too quickly for that. Meeting Aldric twice was a rarity for him - and the only reason they were meeting twice was because of the havoc the war caused.  

 

Legolas shifted on his lap, jolting him from his thoughts.  

 

“It is nearing supper,” he said.  “You are more than welcome to join us in the great hall this evening,” he invited.  

 

The men exchanged glances again, and Thranduil noticed with wry amusement that the youngest looked exceptionally eager.  Aldric had clearly noticed as well, for he spoke up much more quickly this time. “We would be honoured, your majesty,” he said.  

 

Thranduil simply nodded in response, raising a imperious hand less than a centimetre.  Instantly servants appeared, clearing the table in several efficient seconds. Legolas didn’t notice, too intent on his artistic work.  

 

“You must be tired,” he spoke up.  “Please, feel free to take some time to rest, or you are more than welcome to wander the palace as you please.  Any areas in which you are not permitted will be obvious,” or at least his guards would be sure to warn the wandering humans.

 

He whispered a brief warning to Legolas before standing, waiting for the men to stand as well, though far less gracefully.  Legolas held onto his picture, and waved to the servant who took away the extra vellum and detritus. The servant, an elleth who had come with his father from Doriath and was older then Thranduil by nearly a millennium, ruffled Legolas’ hair, and Thranduil knew it was only due to the mortal guests that she did not ruffle his as well.  He would not have minded necessarily, but was sure the humans would have been completely shocked. 

 

The mortals murmured their thanks as he swept from the room, bowing low.  Legolas watched them from his perch high up in his father’s arms, before waving with one small hand.  Thranduil didn’t see, but could tell from his guard’s indulgent faces that at least one of the humans had waved back.  Legolas settled back into his arms once they were out of sight, grabbing onto Thranduil’s nose and giggling. 

 

What went through this child’s mind…

 

“Might I have my nose back, ion-nin?” he asked, voice slightly muffled.  

 

Legolas giggled and let go.  “Down Ada, I want to get down!”  

 

Thranduil obliged, putting Legolas down on his feet without breaking stride.  Legolas stilled long enough to give Thranduil his drawing and let him know it was for Elrond (or “Elwond” - Thranduil really needed to work with him on that) before darting off ahead.  

 

Thranduil sighed to himself, though truthfully was not annoyed, and resigned himself to several hours of chasing after his errant elfling before supper. He tucked the drawing into the dark blue sash about his trim waist, knowing he would need both hands free in the near future.  

 

“Ada!”  

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes good naturedly, passing amused and knowing elves on the way.  

 

“Ada!”  

 

“Yes penneth,” he said, catching up to his son by the large stairs leading to the cellars.  He stooped down to catch him, tossing him into the air. Legolas giggled maniacally, distracted momentarily, and Thranduil took advantage of the quiet to make his way to one of the side doors, stepping out into a shaded area connected to a path that would lead to he archery grounds.  

 

Legolas, realising where his father was taking him, shrieked his happiness, wriggling to be put down again.  Thranduil did so, and the toddler darted off into the trees. The trees, always happy to have their elfling among them, shook with happiness.  Thranduil himself walked at a much more sedate pace, listening to the song of the trees and the animals chattering excitedly to one another. 

 

“Ada, look!”  

 

Thranduil looked up, eyebrows raised.  Legolas was perched on a thin branched that crossed the path, a squirrel chattering beside him while a robin fluttered around his head and scolded him.  Thranduil laughed out loud at the sight of a bird and a squirrel lecturing Legolas on being safe in the trees. Legolas, of course, ignored them both. 

 

“I see you,” he said, coming to a stop indulgently.  And ready to catch his elfling if the thin brach should give way.  Sensing his thoughts the tree dropped an acorn on his head, insulted that the King would even consider that it would drop it’s beloved prince, before filling his head with feeling of hurt and annoyance.  

 

_ Peace _ , Thranduil thought at the tree, laying his hand on the trunk.   _ I know you would never drop him.   _

 

The oak dropped another acorn on his head, still insulted, and twined another branch around Legolas’ waist as if to show how dedicated it was to the elfling’s safety.  Thranduil gave up. The forest loved Legolas more than any other elf, and trees bore long grudges. This oak would be angry at him for years to come. 

 

Legolas said something to the oak, and it gently unraveled the branch from his little arm, before lowering the branch Legolas was sitting on.  The robin had landed on Legolas’ head by now, and was chirping something or another in his ear. Legolas giggled, and jumped into his father’s arms once he was closer.  “Thank you!” he said to the oak tree. 

 

Thranduil hugged Legolas’ tightly, ignoring the toddler’s struggles to be put down for the moment.  He would die without this. Without this small child. He would not have been able to rebuild Greenwood without him, would not have been able to survive the death of his father and his mother subsequently sailing for Valinor.  And he certainly would not have survived the death of his wife. Legolas, this little light, was all that he had. He loved his people and would readily die for them, but he  _ lived _ for his son.  

 

“Ada, too tight!”  

 

Thranduil loosed his grip, allowing Legolas to scamper down and run ahead yet again.  He would stop when he came to the archery ground, Thranduil knew. Legolas knew better then to run near there.  The archers could sense him coming from a mile off and would never allow him to get hurt, but Thranduil and the archery master both had drilled safety into Legolas’ head.  One could never be too careful after all. 

 

As he’d expected, Legolas was waiting for him near the entrance to the fields, all but vibrating with excitement.  Several elves had noticed him, and were grinning in his direction and calling out greetings. 

 

“Can we stay and watch for a long time Ada?” Legolas asked, making a running leap into his father’s arms.  Thranduil caught him easily, lifting him onto his shoulders. Legolas held up a small arm, reaching for the trees as they walked around the fields to the main entrance.  The trees reached for him back, letting the small toddler know how excited they were to see him, how much they loved him. 

 

Thranduil nodded his thanks to the archer that opened the gate, before turning his attention back to Legolas.  “We can stay until it is time to ready ourselves for dinner,” he answered. 

 

Legolas stilled for a moment, before leaning down to try and look at his father’s face.  All he managed to do was nearly topple off his father’s shoulders. Thranduil righted him easily.  “Will the men be there?” Legolas asked, curiosity in his tone. 

 

“I suspect so,” Thranduil responded, reaching up and taking Legolas off his shoulders as the archery master, Amras, came into view.  He leaned over to put a hand on Legolas’ shoulder. “Remember the rules penneth,” he said. 

 

Legolas looked up at him with sparkling green eyes, so like those of his wife it felt like looking at her all over again.  He covered up the stab of pain at her memory with a smile for his son. Legolas did not deserve to bear any of his grief, not when they’d both been through so much already.  

 

“I remember Ada,” he confirmed.  Thranduil let go of his shoulder, allowing the small boy to dart off and leap at Amras.  The old elf (who’d taught Thranduil himself archery eons ago) caught him easily, tossing him high into the air to the elfling’s delight.  

 

Thranduil followed at a more sedate pace, watching Legolas closely.  He was sure he had more work to do, but that could wait. He did not want to miss out on a second of Legolas’ childhood.  

 

**_#_ **

 

Wulfrun eyed the plush chair in his chambers, before deciding against sitting and making his way onto the balcony. His wife had worked hard on his clothing, making sure they were well made and would not embarrass him at the Elvenking’s table, and he wanted to be sure not to crease them.  They were not rich or ornate, but they were made with love and fit him well. He brushed a hand down the tunic, made of dark red wool and embroidered by his wife with black thread, thinking of her. He’d been writing down all that he could, wanting to be able to tell her every detail of this trip.  She’d always wanted to meet the elves. 

 

There was a knock on the door.  

 

“Come in!” he called, suspecting it was his father.  

 

“Oh my, don’t you look handsome son.”  

 

Wulfrun turned from the balcony to look at his father.  The older man was smiling at him, looking as proud as when Wulfrun had first ridden a horse.  He fought down a flush. 

 

“You as well Da,” he said, for it was true.  His father’s tunic was in a deep brown, and embroidered subtly with dark thread.  He recognised his mother’s work immediately. His father had tied his dark hair back in a low tail and put some oil in his greying beard, making it seem much softer than it was.  

 

Wulfrun himself had shaved off his stubble, and left his own light brown hair (he took after his mother) loose.  It was fairly short, so should not get in the way. 

 

His father came over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.  “Shall we go?” 

 

“Is it time already?” Wulfrun asked in surprise, glancing at the position of the sun.  

 

His father shrugged.  “Not quite, but I fancy I walk around the palace and wanted you to join me.”  

 

Wulfrun finally turned from the balcony.  “Aye, that sounds good.” 

 

He followed his father out of the beautiful room, smiling to the elven guard patrolling the corridors.  The elleth smiled back, much to his delight. He’d heard so many tales of elves being cold as a child, and he was incredibly glad that they were false.  Even the King had not been cold. Distant yes, at least to the mortals, but not cold. They wandered the corridors in silence for a time, taking in the beauty of the palace.  It was carved into the mountain, but had a light an airy feel. Vines and other foliage was everywhere, along with small woodland critters and birds. Windows and balconies were prevalent, and most did not seem to close.  If they had curtains they were always pale in colour as to not become discoloured by the sun, and fluttered invitingly in the breeze. The sun was just beginning to set, casting the forest around them in it’s beautiful light.  

 

His father came to a stop in front of a portrait of what Wulfrun assumed to be the royal family from before the War.  The old king, Oropher, sat on a delicately carved throne with a crown of mithral on his blond hair. His son looked a great deal like him, but something in Oropher’s eyes (even painted) made Wulfrun wary.  This was an elf who was more ancient than any man could possibly imagine. Beside Oropher on another throne was a female elf of ethereal beauty that Wulfrun imagined was the former Queen, who had left these shores after his husband’s death.  She had hair of rich mahogany, and eyes of the warmest brown. Thranduil, her son, did not appear to look much like her in colouring, but there was something about his manner that reminded Wulfrun of this regal female. Thranduil himself was painting just to the right of his father, tall proud and beautiful.  He was wearing less ornate robes then he had been wearing in their earlier meeting, just a simple gold tunic, but he still commanded attention. The elleth on the other side of the throne caught Wulfrun’s attention next. 

 

She did not look as regal as the other female elf, or even the two males, and there was a sort of fell wildness to her bright green gaze.  Eyes the same emerald as the little prince. Her hair was as black as a long night, and she was wearing a simple gown of the palest gold matching Thranduil’s, yet she still mde you stop and look.  Wulfrun could easily imagine her as an elven warrior of old. Rumour held that she had died protecting her people, and Wulfrun did not doubt that for a moment, seeing her now. 

 

“Will ye look at that,” his father breathed.  Neither of the humans had ever seen a painting so lifelike or beautiful.  It was humbling in a way. 

 

Wulfun hummed in agreement, still studying the artwork.  His attentioned turned to the little prince last, painted as little more than a newborn.  Perhaps this painting had been commissioned for his birth? He was held in his grandfather’s arms, pale hair standing out against the deep green of Oropher’s sleeve.  Thranduil’s hand rested lightly on his son’s head, and there was no mistaking the expression of love in his eyes. His wife, the elleth who should be the current Queen, was smiling at her baby son from her position beside the old Queen, who in turn was regarding her grandson with a worshipful gaze.  Little Prince Legolas was dressed in gold to match his parents, though his clothing was much more ornate. The gold infant’s gown was incredibly ornate, embroidered with mithril thread and studded with jewels, though his little feet were left bare. His eyes, so like those of his mother’s, were wide open, staring out of the painting with far to much emotion for an infant so small.  Wulfrun felt like the infant was staring into his soul, though the gaze was so happy and kind that he did not mind. 

 

“It is a beautiful painting, is it not?”  

 

Wulfrun started violently, not having heard anyone approach, before looking up and seeing the Elvenking.  He bowed ungracefully, nearly tripping over his own feet. His father was not much more successful. 

 

Thranduil gestured for them to stand.  “You are guests here,” he said. “You have no need to bow at the moment.”  

 

“Thank you, your majesty,” his father said, the nerves obvious in his voice.  The King had changed for supper, and Wulfrun felt like an underdressed child in front of him.  He wore leggings and a loose fitting tunic of the deepest black, secured about his slender waist with a belt of pure mithril.  His over robes were slubbed silk the same shade of blue as the sky in the middle of the day, embroidered with darker blue and studded with gemstones. The sleeves of the robes turned back to reveal re-embroidered damask in the pattern of leaves and woodland flowers.  His hair was worn loose again, and on his fair head he wore a crown of blue and white wildflowers. 

 

He turned to observe the painting as well, and the little prince poked his head from behind his father’s leg.  “Hello!” he chirped in Westron. 

 

Wulfrun glanced up at the King’s face briefly, before deciding to throw caution to the wind.  He crouched down to be at a better height, a large grin on his face. “Hello your highness,” he said as kindly as he could manage.  

 

The little Prince was even more adorable from this close.  His skin was a perfect porcelain, his cheeks the rosiest pink.  His mouth, opened in surprise at Wulfrun’s actions, was equally as pink and had a lovely bow shape.  His green eyes were even brighter than Wulfrun had originally thought, and glittered in a way that no mortal’s ever would.  

 

The Prince glanced up at his father, who smiled back down at him.  “What is your name?” the prince asked, his Westron accented and slow, but understandable.  

 

“My name is Wulfrun,” he replied, mindful to keep his voice slow and easy for the little one to understand.  “And this,” he gestured behind him. “Is my father Emory.” 

 

“I am Legolas,” the little prince said cheerfully, stepping out from behind his father now.  He was dressed, Wulfrun noticed, to match the king. His leggings, tunic, and belt were identical to his father’s though his blue outer robe was much less ornate.  It was still studded with gems and intricate embroidery, but seemed much lighter, and did not trail on the ground as the King’s did. Wulfrun imagined that even elvish children could occasionally trip, and long robes would not help.  His white blond hair was also worn loose, framing his face. His crown was smaller than that of his father’s, but made of the same flowers. Wulfrun was completely charmed. 

 

“I am very happy to meet you Prince Legolas,” he smiled.  

 

Legolas bounced on his little feet slightly.  “Do you like the painting?” he asked. 

 

Wulfrun nodded seriously.  “Very much so,” he replied honestly. 

 

“That is my nana and daerada and daernana,” he said very quickly.  Wulfrun assumed the meaning of the Sindarin words. He knew some Sindarin, but was unable to translate quickly, especially when the words were spoken by such a little voice.  “I am just a baby there,” he continued, the words much slower now. The language seemed to be difficult for him. “Now I am big!” 

 

Wulfrun’s grinned widened, and he could tell his father was likewise smiling.  Thranduil himself chuckled at his son. “Very big,” the King agreed, holding out a hand.  The prince scurried up like a squirrel until he was resting in his father’s arms. They were stunning together, Wulfrun noticed as he stood.  Their similarities were highlighted by their similar outfits, though he imagined the Prince would grow to be even more beautiful than his father somehow.  

 

Prince Legolas said something in one of the elvish languages to his father, who seemed to think it over before responding likewise.  As one the two elves turned to face Wulfrun and his father again. “The Prince has a request for you,” King Thranduil said formally, though Wulfrun imagined he was attempting not to smile at his son’s obvious excitement.  

 

“Could you… Ada?”  

 

Thranduil murmured something to quiet for the humans to hear, and the Prince continued.  

 

“Could you please sit beside me at dinner?”  he asked politely. 

 

“Legolas would like to learn more about your settlements,” the King explained, starting to walk in what Wulfrun assumed to be the way to the great hall.  He and his father had gotten awfully lost exploring the palace. 

 

Wulfrun exchanged a surprised glance with his father.  “I would be honoured,” he replied honestly. They had already been granted seats of honour as guests, but sitting next to the Prince of the realm was a boon he had not expected.  

 

“Indeed,” his father’s said jovially.  Wulfrun knew he was completely charmed by the elfling.  He was almost more excited then Wulfrun at his coming grandchild, and Wulfrun knew he adored seeing the elfling.  

 

Thranduil raised a dark brow, though he did not seem annoyed, only amused by something.  “It will certainly be practise for you, Master Wulfrun,” the King drawled as they entered the hall.  “Congratulations on your coming child.” 

 

Wulfrun blinked, not having expected the Elvenking to remember such a small detail.  “Thank you, your Majesty,” he stuttered. 

 

Thranduil seemed amused.  “Children are beloved by the eldar,” he explained as he settled himself into his ornate chair in at the head of the table.  He nodded, and servants lead Wulfrun and his father to chairs on his right, leaving room for the other mortals in their party when they arrived.  They were slightly early after all. 

 

The Prince wiggled in his father’s lap, standing up on his knee to chatter away to one of the servants.  Thranduil ignored him, no small feat with how much the child was bouncing. It was a wonder that neither of the royals had lost their crowns.  

 

Wulfrun decided to throw caution to the wind.  “Any advice for a new father?” he asked, being sure to smile.  He did not want the king to take offence at his forwardness (his father was already kicking him under the table at his breach of etiquette) after all. The king surprised them both by laughing out loud.  It was a wonderful sound, deep and resonating. The Prince laughed as well, though he clearly did not know what was so funny, and his light giggled turned into a full fit when his father tricked his ribs.  He picked up his feet so that he was suspended in his father’s grasp, pink cheeked with joy as he shrieked his happiness. 

 

“Do not miss a moment of time with your child,” the king finally said.  He was still smiling, but his tone was serious. “Cherish their tender years, as they will pass far too quickly.”  

 

Legolas, still suspended in the air, reached for a somber looking elf who had appeared at Thranduil’s shoulder.  This elf had dark eyes and darker hair, and was wearing simple robes of deep red velvet. He plucked the Prince from the King’s grasp, whispering in the little ear with a wicked grin on his slender face.  Wulfrun thought he recognised him as the King’s seneschal, Galion. 

 

Thranduil poured himself a glass of wine, and nodded to someone out of Wulfrun’s line of vision.  Servants appeared as if from nowhere, filling Wulfrun and his father’s goblets as well. 

 

“Do not allow a single moment to pass you by,” the King said, swirling his wine in his cup.  

 

Wulfrun smiled, and his father huffed a small laugh.  

 

“Children grow far too quickly,” his father agreed, clapping Wulfrun on the shoulder.  Wulfrun felt himself flush, though he knew that the Elvenking would understand. 

 

King Thranduil smiled slightly. “Also, do not expect much sleep at the beginning,” he added.  

 

Wulfrun laughed, surprised.  He would have assumed that the king and his wife would have had countless nursemaids at their beck and call, but having watched the King with the Prince, he doubted it now.  He didn’t think the king would have given up a single second with his son. It make him respect the King far more. He knew most mortal rulers, or any mortals with wealth really, would never wake up with their child in the night, or ever consider changing their clouts or seeing them when they were not well behaved. To them children were to be seen and not heard until they were of an age to be useful.  It was nice to see one of the most powerful figures in Middle Earth didn’t care for that sort of behaviour. 

 

Prince Legolas, apparently bored with Galion, sat back down on his father’s knees, hair slightly ruffled.  Thranduil smoothed it down gently. 

 

“Master Wulfrun,” Legolas started.  “What is it like in your village?” he asked slowly, stopping once to ask his father for a translation of a word, looking at Wulfrun with eager green eyes.  

 

Wulfrun glanced up at the imperious face of the King, before turning his attention back to the prince.  The rest of his party had arrived, and was clearly surprised by the seating arrangement and at seeing him conversing with the Prince, but Wulfrun paid them no mind.  This was the Prince’s first encounter with humans. Wulfrun was determined to show him that they were a kind race for the most part, and to answer all his questions. 

 

It was good practise for them both - a Prince and a father to be.   

 

And so with a happy smile on his face Wulfrun started explaining life in his village to the Crown Prince of the Woodland Realm, his father and the men of the nearby settlements chiming in, all determined to keep the wide smile on the small Prince’s cherubic face.  

 

Above him Thranduil spoke to one of his advisors, a terrifying looking elleth who had been introduced as the head of Greenwood’s armies.  She had a long scar cutting through her eyebrow, and Wulfrun was sure she could kill him with her littlest finger. But she had smiled broadly at the little Prince, producing a sweet for him from a pocket in her dress.  So she could not be all bad. 

 

The rumours may all be true, easily, but they did not matter.  What mattered was how a man (or an Elvenking in this case) treated those around him.  The elves in the great hall, from the servants to the nobles, were all clearly happy and all obviously adored their king and prince.  And if one could tell someone’s character by how they treated their children, the men from the settlements surrounding Greenwood the Great would never have any reason to fear the Elves who lived there.  

 

Wulfrun knew he would most likely never get the chance to come to the palace again, and if he were to see elves again they would be border guards and not the King and Prince, but that was alright.  He was mortal, and his time on this earth would be brief. He was content to enjoy his time. But he was determined to make the most of this meeting. 

 

The little Prince tugged on his arm, asking yet another question, and Wulfrun leaned down to listen, all other thought banished from his mind.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 40 pages this time lol, apparently I'm not so good at writing short ficlets! I just couldn't help myself - little Legolas is just too adorable. :)


	4. Solstice in Imladris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and little Legolas travel to Imladris to celebrate the summer solstice near the beginning of the Third Age so that Legolas can meet the baby twins as well as Celebrian and Glorfindel. Glorfindel adores Legolas, but has a warning for Thranduil, much to the Elvenking's dismay.

“So he’s coming then?”  

 

“Hmm?” Elrond mumbled, still focused on the document in from of him.  Glorfindel rolled his eyes. 

 

“All the nights of limited sleep are getting to you,” he said.  

 

Elrond finally looked up.  “Maybe,” he said. He’d been around children before, and knew infants would be hard work.  But having two of them was exhausting, even with the amount of help he and Celebrian had. He was just thankful Elladan and Elrohir were sleeping through the night consistently.  They’d recently started attempting to stand and walk, so Elrond was sure they were tiring themselves out more as well. He felt a great deal of pity for those who’d had to deal with him and his own twin all those years ago.  

 

“I’m caught up on sleep,” he grouched,  “just not on all this paperwork. And permanently covered in drool from the twins teething on my clothing.”  

 

Glorfindel snorted.  “You will never be caught up on paperwork young one,” he said.  “Accept it and more on. Also, drool will be your constant companion for years to come.”  

 

“I’d really rather not,” Elrond said softly, finally finishing with the document and moving onto another, purposefully ignoring the second part of Glorfindel’s reply.  His friend made a noise, and Elrond looked up. The ancient elf had his long blond hair pulled up in a high bun to stay out of his face as he whittled an arrow, though he’d stopped to look over at Elrond with an amused expression on his fair face.  Elrond was a lord in his own right, and several thousands years old. But he felt like a small child under that heavy gaze. 

 

“What were you asking earlier?” he asked, putting aside his paperwork for the time being.  He had councillors that could help him. They’d been invaluable since the birth of the twins.

 

“He’s coming then, to the solstice festival?”  

 

“Who?”

 

“Thranduil.  And his son.”

 

Elrond leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting over the the picture the little Prince had drawn for him several years ago.  He’d sent several others since then, but this first one was still his favourite. Even though he was not exactly sure what the squiggles and lines were supposed to be.  He suspected Thranduil did not know either. 

 

“They are,” Elrond confirmed with a smile.  Glorfindel snorted again. He’d told Elrond that Thranduil was not as bad as so many made him out to be.  He’d met the Elvenking in his youth before the destruction of Doriath when Oropher, then a Prince himself, had been travelling with his young son along with several other nobles, Celebron among them.  Oropher had an extremely strong personality, as did Thranduil, but Glorfindel had found Thranduil to be much more palatable. But still, the elfling (for Thranduil had been little more than an elfling at the time) had been intense even them.  He would be a great king, Glorfindel knew. 

 

Better than his father had been.  

 

“I hate to say I told you so, but…”

 

“Yes yes,” Elrond complained half heartedly.  “I should know better then to ignore your advice,” he finished somewhat sarcastically.  Though it was true. Glorfindel’s advice was invaluable. “They should be arriving in about three weeks,” he continued. “Apparently Legolas is excited in the extreme to meet the twins.”

 

Glorfindel grinned, putting down his fletching.  He adored children, and was very excited to meet the little prince.  He loved spending time with the twins, but a large part of him missed playing with children who were slightly older.  Aside from Elrond and Celebrian, Glorfindel was likely the most excited for the visitors. The rest of Imladris seemed somewhat nervous.  Many had met the terrifying Oropher years ago after all, or heard stories and rumours about him and his son. Silvan elves were decidedly strange to them, more otherworldly.  

 

Glorfindel knew better though.  Their Silven brethren simply were more connected to the song of the Arda.  And Thranduil wasn’t even Silvan!

 

“Celebrian is excited for the twins and Legolas to meet,” Elrond continued, taking a sip of his wine.  “She has fond memories of playing with Thranduil when she was a small child, though he was far older than her.”  

 

“Thranduil must have longed for siblings,” Glorfindel mused.  “Having a brother or sister would have made dealing with that father of his much easier.”  

 

Elrond’s smile slipped from his face.  “I do not think his parents could give one,” he whispered.  They had witnessed the fall of Doriath, in which Huorial wife of Oropher, had been grievously injured defending her only child before they could escape.  Rumour held that she had barely survived, and due to her injuries would never again bear children. 

 

Glorfindel shrugged elegantly.  “Regardless,” he said blithely, “Thranduil is not Oropher.  But he is slightly terrifying I’ll give you that.” 

 

Elrond fought the urge to laugh.  ‘Slightly terrifying’ to the Balrog Slayer would be completely horrifying to anyone else.  He shook himself when he sensed his own wife approaching with the twins in tow after their afternoon nap.  Thranduil loved his son beyond measure and was kin to his wife and therefore his sons. He would hear no unfounded rumours about him, not from his own people.  

 

“I have a couple of elflings who would like to see their Ada,” Celebrian said, poking her golden head into Elrond’s office with a twin balanced on each hip.  Glorfindel sprang up, snatching the closet (Elladan Elrond thought, though sometimes it was hard to tell) and span around in a circle. The baby giggled maniacally.  Elrohir, still in his mother’s arms, whined before Glorfindel grabbed him as well and continued spinning. 

 

“If they sick on you it is your own fault,” Celebrian warned, amused at the sight of an elf of Glorfinde’s stature playing with her sons.  

 

Glorfindel stopped spinning and sunk to the ground, allowing the dizzy twins to climb all over him.  “So be it,” he said. “There has been worse on my tunics then some infant sick.” 

 

Elrond thought of Glorfindel’s history and shuddered.  Worse indeed. 

 

Celebrian arranged herself on the comfortable couch in his office, giving him an expectant look.  He gave up on working and settled beside her, allowing her nimble fingers to sooth his headache as he watched his children use one of the most ancient elves in Middle Earth, one who was sent back by the Valar as their emissary, as a climbing frame.  

 

He could not wait for Legolas, Glorfindel, and the twins, to meet.  

  
  


**_###_ **

  
  


Thranduil rode through the gate with a small retinue after the sun had set, relieved beyond measure to have finally made it to Imladris.  Legolas was still somehow awake, but grumpy from exhaustion and sore from so much time spent on his father’s elk. His son had maintained his remarkably cheerful attitude throughout most of their trip but even Legolas had his limits.  

 

“We’ll get to sleep in a real bed tonight ion-nin, how does that sound?”  

 

Legolas looked up at him with tired green eyes.  “It sounds really, really good,” he replied seriously.  He’d started off the day sitting normally, but was now curled up on his father’s chest hugging his knees and relying on Thranduil and his mount not to let him fall.  The elk, a massive and strong beast, shook his great head. He loved the elfling more than he loved his master. He would never allow him to fall. Knowing this, Legolas had taken full advantage, spending most of the trip climbing over the massive antlers.  

 

Now though his elfling was overtired, hungry, sore, and grumpier then he’d been in a long time.  He’d perked up slightly at the thought of seeing Elrond again, and meeting his somewhat distant cousin Celebrian for the first time along with the infant twins, but was still one exhausted child.  

 

Thranduil sympathised.  He had not realised how tiring it would be to travel so far with one so small.  

 

“Look,” Thranduil gestured,  “we have a welcoming party awaiting us.”  

 

Legolas turned his head slightly to see what his father was pointing at, finally sitting up straight.  Riding behind him, Arbelleson (who had been named one of Legolas’ personal guards when it became apparent how much the elfling enjoyed spending time with the young warrior) let out a sigh of intense relief.   Finally. 

 

“It’s Elrond, Ada!”

 

“That it is penneth.”

 

“Can I go?”  

 

Thranduil considered it.  It was not the norm, and definitely not what would be expected of them.  So the answer must be yes, a fact in which he was sure to inform his child of.  “Of course Legolas!” he said with renewed energy. He allowed Legolas to stand, and his little elfling easily reached up to the branches and disappeared into the trees who had helpfully lowered their branches to him.  The elk snorted, used to the Prince’s antics by now. 

 

He could tell from here that Elrond had raised one imposing eyebrow at Legolas’ actions, but knew the other elf was more amused then anything.  A tall blond elf, one who would easily match Thranduil for height if not surpass it, was openly laughing and eyeing the tree line. Thranduil himself monitored his son easily.  These trees were not known to him, but he was not the King of the Woodland Realm for nothing. They were already helping Legolas, making sure the elfling was not seen and did not fall, and were whispering in his ear.

 

“Hail, Lord Elrond,” he said when he was close enough, closing a hand over his  chest formally. 

 

“Mae govannen Aran Thranduil,” Elrond replied in turn, a small smile on his face that he could not hide.  “I had thought Legolas was coming with you,” he continued. “It is most disheartening to see you arrive without him.”  

 

Slight giggling came from the trees.  Thranduil smirked, already knowing his son’s plan.  

 

“Oh well,” he shrugged elegantly sliding off his elk.  Behind him his weary people did the same and attendants came and took the horses and his elk away along with their packs.  “You will have too…”

 

He did not get to finish his sentence, for Legolas had launched himself out of the tree onto Elrond’s head. It was only quick reflexes that allowed the elf Lord to catch the little hellion.  

 

“I did come Elrond!” he said excitedly.  Thranduil was very glad he’d taken the time to work on Legolas’ pronunciation of the Lord’s name.  Though it had been adorable.

 

Elrond, for his part, did not appear surprised by Legolas’ greeting and hugged the elfling tightly.  “Oh thank the Valar,” he said. “I would be so sad to not see you again.” 

 

Legolas grinned brightly, hugging Elrond back.  

 

Behind their Lord the other elves were watching with various looks, ranging from amused to shocked.  Thranduil knew of his reputation in many of the other realms, but did not care to impress those who did not take the time to learn more about him.  All he cared about was that his people were safe and happy, as was his son. Having someone like Elrond as a friend and ally was very welcome, but not necessary, and if the people of Imladris could not move on from their prejudices that was their problem. One that he would not seek to fix.  

 

“You know Legolas,” Elrond was saying, completely ignoring Thranduil now in favour of the small elf prince still held tightly in his arms.  Thranduil was used to it. “I have several people who are looking very forward to meeting you.” 

 

Legolas turned to look at his father, wriggling to be put down.  Elrond allowed him to do so, and the Prince darted over to Thranduil, pulling him forwards by a hand.  “Ada says you now have two sons!” he said with a great deal of excitement. “Can I meet them? Do you think they’d like to be my friend? Are they…”  

 

Thranduil cut him off with a hand.  “Allow Lord Elrond to answer one question at a time ion-nin,” he half-heartedly scolded.  

 

Behind Elrond the tall blond elf was laughing openly.  Now that they were closer Thranduil assumed him to be Glorfindel himself.  He picked Legolas up, sensing that the boy’s excitement would soon give way to exhaustion.  

 

“You can certainly meet them,” Elrond answered.  “Though they are very young and asleep at the moment.  And I am sure that they will want to be your friend.”

 

“Good,” Legolas started, before a large yawn interrupted him and his thumb began to drift towards his mouth.  “I want to be their friend too.”

 

Elrond laughed aloud.  “I think it would be best to lead you all to your chambers now,” he said.  “We can make more formal introductions tomorrow. Come.” 

 

Thranduil nodded graciously, heart swelling as Legolas nuzzled into him.  He was desperately trying to stay awake, but now that the excitement of seeing Elrond again was fading he was fast fighting the battle with sleep.  

 

“Celebrian will meet you tomorrow,” Elrond explained as he fell into step beside Thranduil, leading him into the Last Homely House.  “The twins are teething,” he grimaced, “and…”

 

Thranduil snorted.  “Legolas was a menace while he teethed,” he offered.  “I don’t think he slept for more than an hour at a time for months on end, and had a fever nearly the entire time.”  

 

Elrond gave him a pitying look.  “The twins are not that bad, thank the Valar.  Just rather fussy at bedtime.”

 

Thranduil raised both dark eyebrows, lips quirking slightly in a smile.  “It is still horrible to see your child in pain, even for something as simple as teething.  My lord father,” he closed his eyes briefly at the pain the memory brought. Oropher had had so little time with his grandson,  “used to take him into council session while he teethed and pace the room. The droning voices often soothed Legolas into sleep for a small amount of time.”  

 

Glorfindel, for it was the balrog slayer - he had introduced himself briefly after the other elves left to their own duties.  “I have to say,” he laughed. “I can picture that easily. I met your father but once,” he explained. “And you as well King Thranduil, if you remember.”  

 

Thranduil nodded once, peering down to see his own small son had finally given in and fallen asleep.  “I do, Lord Glorfindel,” he replied. He had been little older than Legolas was now. “I have fond memories of that journey.”  

 

Glorfindel grinned, still the happy elf Thranduil remembered from eons past despite the hardships of his life.  No wonder the Valar had chosen him as their emissary here on Middle Earth. “As do I,” he said. He stoked one broad hand over Legolas’ hair, still ginning.  “You’re little one is adornable.”

 

Thranduil allowed his own smile to widen very slightly.  “That he is.” 

 

Elrond led them through several wide corridors on silent feet, respecting the elves that had chosen to sleep for the night, before stopping outside a set of double doors.  “I’d thought you would like to keep Legolas with you,” he said nearly silently. 

 

Thranduil nodded his thanks, glancing into the well appointed chambers.  There was a lovely sitting room with a view into one of Imladris’ many gardens, and three doors leading into what he assumed were a bathing chamber and bedrooms.  “This will suit us perfectly Elrond, Lord Glorfindel,”

 

Glorfindel clapped him on the shoulder.  Thranduil fought down a expression of surprise at the familiar contact.  They’d met, yes, but millennia ago at this point. Since then much had changed.  Indeep, the entire landscape of Middle Earth itself had been dramatically altered after the end of the First Age, and they had met centuries before then.

 

“You called me Glorfindel as a child Thranduil,” he said cheerfully if quietly in deference to the sleeping elfling in the King’s arms.  “No need to change things now.” 

 

Thranduil shot him a look, but one without any heart in it.  The older elf would correctly be able to translate it he was sure.  

 

As is reading his thoughts Glorfindel laughed, before leading him and the sleeping elfling into their quarters and leaving them to their own devices.  

 

“Sleep well, my friend,” Elrond said.  

 

Thranduil laughed aloud at that.  “You are the one with teething twins,” he pointed out.  

 

Elrond grimaced.  “They sleep through the night with no issue,” he said, a fact in which Thranduil was duly impressed by.  Legolas had despised sleep as an infant. “It’s just when they are awake and aware of the pain.”

 

“Wine,” Thranduil offered with a wry smile.  Elrond blinked in bemused surprised. 

 

“For me or the twins?”

 

“A small amount on the gums.  It’s the only way Legolas would even sleep for a moment.”  

 

Elrond thought this through.  “At this point I’ll try anything,” he finally laughed.  He stroked a large hand down Legolas’ platinum hair once more, before wandering off to find his own bed and wife.

 

Thranduil watched him go for a moment with a heavy heart.  Elrond was able to go to his wife, to hold her in his arms, to raise their children together.  Thranduil would not be able to hold his beloved again, unless Mandos returned her to the living in Valinor.  Even then, it would be centuries and centuries before he would sail. Legolas barely remembered her, and though he was beloved by his people and his father, he would not be able to bask in the love that a mother would offer.  

 

Legolas moved in his arms, jolting Thranduil from his unhappy thoughts.  

 

Time to put little elflings to bed.  

  
  


**_###_ **

  
  


Glorfindel was up early that morning, before the rising of the sun.  He sat in his chambers for a time, simply listening to the birds and watching the light of the sun begin to break through the darkness before he dressed for the day.  

 

He did not sleep much anymore, though at times wished that he could.  He supposed he’d slept for thousands of years in a way, and could do without now.  He dressed quickly, not bothering with ornamentation. He’d worn little back in Gondolin, though had been vain to a degree as all elves were.  But now all those trappings and finery seemed pointless. He still took pride in his appearance, but not to the same degree. Elrond had always eschewed finery, even as a child.  Glorfindel was beyond grateful to have found this haven. At times however, the peace grated on him. How many of the elves flocked to him. He felt much more content among his friends, those who did not see him as the mighty balrog slayer, but simply as Glorfindel.  The twins in particular were a balm to his soul, and he had a feeling little Prince Legolas would be as well. Thranduil, he knew, would never treat him as anything other then an Elven Warrior who deserved some semblance of respect due to his age. He was too much his father's son to react in any other way.   And Legolas was far too young to see him as anything other than a potential playmate.

 

He meandered his way through the hallways towards the Hall of Fire, enjoying watching the sun rise through the valley.  Other elves were beginning to stir now, but it would be some time before any but on duty warriors and servants entered the halls.  

 

“Or not,” he murmured to himself.  Thranduil and Legolas were already awake, though Thranduil looked as though he did not want to be.  There were sitting side by side on one of the comfortable couches near to the low fire, and Legolas was talking animatedly to his father, gesturing with a piece of bead in his hand.  

 

“I do not want that to end up in my hair penneth,” Glorfindel heard as he approached.  

 

“Sorry Ada,” the little prince said, not sounding sorry at all.  Though he put the bread and honey down to continue his story. 

 

By now Thranduil had noticed him, though Legolas still had not, too involved in telling his father a story.  Thranduil whispered something to him and Legolas spun round, nearly toppling from the sofa in the process, to look at Glorfindel.  

 

He was still for a moment, before darting down and coming to a stop right in front of him.  Glorfindel knelt down so the tiny elfling did not have to strain his neck. “Hello,” he said with a smile.  This little child may be the most adorable elfling he’d ever seen.

 

“Hello,” Legolas said back immediately.  He was bouncing on his bare toes, emerald eyes sparkling in the early morning light.  “I’m Legolas. What is your name?”

 

Thranduil had clearly worked hard on his heir’s language skills.  His Sindarin was perfect, not a lisp or mistake to be heard. Glorfindel was sure he could change that once they started getting to know one another.  He didn’t want any elfling to think they had to stand on ceremony with him.

 

“My name’s Glorfindel,” he said, purposefully casual and informal.  “And I’m very pleased to meet you Legolas. You look a great deal like your Ada did at your age.”  

 

Legolas’ amazing eyes widened and he looked between an studiously indifferent Thranduil and an amused Glorfindel.  “You must be very old then,” he finally stated with all the surety of a small child.

 

Glorfindel laughed.  “I am,” he winked. “Could I join you and your Ada for breakfast?”  

 

Legolas nodded, bouncing back over to his father.  The Elvenking was sipping on some herbal tea, not caring that his son was making friends with one of the most ancient elves still in Middle Earth.  Knowing him, he did not. He was watching Glorfindel with shrewd eyes, studying his interaction with his son closely. 

 

Legolas, not noticing or not caring about his father’s scrutiny, clambered onto his lap like a squirrel, moving to brush his hair out of his face with a honey covered hand.  

 

Thranduil caught his wrist in a movement too fast for even Glorfindel to follow, looking at his son’s hand with a raised eyebrow and blank expression.  

 

Legolas looked at the offending appendage.  “Oh, oops.” 

 

“Oops indeep,” Thranduil rolled his eyes, handing Legolas his bread back and pushing his hair out of his face for him.  Legolas ate the food happily, still eyeing Glorfindel, who had moved to take a seat in a chair adjacent to the sofa. 

 

“Do you mind?” Glorfindel asked, gesturing to the steaming teapot, fragrant with the smells of a herbal blend.  

 

Thranduil inclined his head, finishing tying Legolas’ hair in a high tail.  Some wisps had already fallen out and were fluttering around his face. 

 

Glorfindel poured himself from, studying the two elves across from him.  Oropher would have never treated Thranduil like this. He had loved his only child beyond measure, yes, but he had been cold and distant for most of his life.  He would have never allowed Thranduil to sit on his lap, never tied his hair back for him in such an indulgent manner. And Oropher had certainly never allowed his son to show anything less than perfect manners.  Thranduil had been the perfect child, and once Oropher had established Greenwood he had been the perfect heir for the at times volatile King. Glorfindel had no doubt that Oropher had loved his son, and Thranduil his father… but Thranduil was no fool.  He remembered his father’s mistakes and was clearly refusing to make them as well. Even if it meant allowing his child, one of the only royal elves left in Middle Earth, to show less than stellar manners while they were guests in someone else's home. 

 

Glorfindel was glad to see it.  

 

Legolas’ fae shone bright and clear, a balm to his old soul.  He would hate for anyone to try and stifle it, mould it to fit the part of a perfect crown prince.

 

Legolas had finished his bread, and was starting on the berries Thranduil placed in front of him happily, glancing at Glorfindel every few moments.  Glorfindel allowed the scrutiny, and was sure to keep his posture and expression relaxed. It helped that he had dressed exceedingly casually for the day, wearing a simple shirt and leggings in shades of cream underneath a sleeveless grey robe.  He’d left his hair loose, as he was hoping his day would entail nothing more strenuous than playing with the elfling in front of him. 

 

Legolas and Thranduil were likewise dressed casually and in pale shades, though there was subtle embroidery on their tunics of delicate flowers of various colours and leaves of pale green.  Like many from the woodland realm, who’s denizens seemed to prefer climbing in the boughs of great trees to walking, they wore no over robe when dressed casually, but wore looser tunics then those favoured by the Noldo, belted at the waist attop their leggins. Legolas, Glorfindel noticed with a smile, had neglected to wear shoes.  Much like another elfling he’d once known. One that was now a King with a son of his own.

 

Legolas had finished his fruit and glanced once more at Glorfindel before whispering quickly in his father’s ear.  Glorfindel made no effort to eavesdrop, though from what he did inadvertently catch Legolas was speaking Silven, which he barely understood.  

 

Thranduil snorted elegantly.  “Go ahead penneth,” he said in reply to whatever his son had asked.  

 

Legolas smiled sweetly at him, giving the stern looking King a kiss the cheek before turning all his attention to Glorfindel.  

 

Glorfindel fought the urge to laugh.  This little elfling was barely out of toddlerhood and already had a stare like a dragon on him.  There was no doubting what line he came from. There were rumours of orcs stopping in the face of Oropher’s glare after all, and Thranduil’s was said to be even worse.

 

“Glorfindel,” he started seriously.  Glorfindel would have been able to take him more seriously if he did not have the remnants of breakfast on his face. “May I ask you something?”

 

“I believe you just did!” Glorfindel grinned.  

 

Thranduil made an odd sound, and Legoas raised an eyebrow, a look that he’d copied from Elrond years ago. Elrond was sure to be touched he still did it when trying to get his way.  

 

“Of course you may Legolas,” Glorfindel gave in.  Valar, there was no way the little Prince didn’t get everything that he wanted.  He looked a great deal like Thranduil, incredibly pale with white blond hair and a singularly intense expression in his bright green, but there was something very wild about him, something fey and otherworldly and delicate. That had to be from his mother, who’d apparently been a Silven herself.  A healer and a warrior both. Thranduil had never been described as delicate in his life. 

 

Glorfindel loved the child already.  

 

Legolas smiled again, apparently unable to hold a serious expression for long.  “Ada said that there are lots of waterfalls here in Imladris,” he started, leaning back against the formidable Elvenking.  Said Elvenking simply spread some jam on a pastry. “Would you be able to show me and Ada some of them? Elrond said, in one of his letters last year, that you know where all the best ones are!”  

 

Glorfindel swallowed his mouthful.  “I would love to show you and your Ada the waterfalls Legolas!” he answered truthfully.  “Could you show me something as well?”

 

Legolas frown, head tilted to the side like bird.  “Like what?”

 

“I’m not very good at hearing the voices of the trees,” Glorfindel said, as though confiding a great secret.  “I can hear their song, but not what they are actually saying. I want to know that they are happy. And, I must admit, I’d love to know what they are saying about me. I am very nosey.”  

 

Legolas’ eyes had gone very wide.  Beside and above him, Thranduil hid an amused smile behind his mug.  “You… you can’t understand the trees?!?” 

 

Glorfindel shook his head sadly.  “Unfortunately not,” he said. “Would you be willing to help me?”  

 

Legolas nodded his head wildly, topknot hitting his father in the chin.  

 

Thranduil caught his son’s wayward hair in a fist, shaking it gently.  “This could be registered as a weapon ion-nin,” he laughed. 

 

Legolas blushed becomingly.  “Sorry Ada.”

 

Thranduil let go of his hair, allowing his son to slid off his lap.  Glorfindel moved over, silently inviting Legolas to sit by him. He assumed Thranduil wouldn’t mind.  Legolas happily climbed onto the large chair, sitting at an angle to he was better able to look up at Glorfindel, and began chattering away.  Glorfindel let the happy voice wash over him, unable to do anything but smile and listen. Thranduil watched carefully from the sofa, a slight smile on his handsome face as the mighty balrog slayer became completely wrapped around a small elfling’s finger.  

  
  


**_###_ **

  
  


Elrond happily walked into the gardens, glad his day had been easy for the most part.  He still had some paperwork left, but that could wait for another day. He walked slowly to allow the beauty of Imladris in spring soak in.  It was truly a wonder after so many centuries of war and of pain. He followed a meandering path to the private gardens, knowing his wife and sons would be there at this time.  

 

“Elrond!”  

 

He dropped to one knee in time to catch the little whirlwind that was the Prince of Greenwood, standing with him in his arms.  Legolas’ hair was held away from his face from several braids that he recognized as Celebrian’s handiwork, and he had a smudge of mud on his left cheek.  He was also, Elrond suddenly noticed, very damp. 

 

“Did you go for a swim penneth?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.  

 

Legolas made the expression back, prompting Elrond to dissolve into laughter.  Thranduil had warned him, but seeing his at times infamous expression on the child’s face was almost too much to bear.  

 

Legolas laughed as well, unable to stay serious for any length of time.  Elrond could only hope his sons were the same when they got older. 

 

“Ada, Glorfindel, and me went to the waterfalls!”  

 

“Did you?” Elrond said with what he hoped was appropriate excitement.  He purposely ignored Legolas’ grammer, not caring a whit at the mistake.  Thranduil could correct him if he wanted to do so. 

 

“Mmmhmmm,” Legolas nodded.  “And we saw a big fish, and the trees were so happy to talk to me and to Ada. And we met a deer!”  

 

“You have had a very exciting morning!”  

 

Legolas nodded again, playing with the a small brain in Elrond’s hair.  “Did you have a good morning?” he asked politely. 

 

Elrond laughed.  “Yes I did little one,” he said.  “But not as exciting as yours!” He set Legolas down, offering a hand to the little one.  “Now tell me, have you met Elladan and Elrohir yet?” 

 

Legolas’ grin somehow widened. “I did! They’re my friends.  Ada and Celebrian and Glorfindel,” Elrond noticed with amusement that he pronounced Glorfindel as Gorfindel and Celebrian sounded more like Cebrian, “all say that they love me! And I love them too.”  

 

Elrond swept Legolas into his arms again, unable to resist this child.  Legolas went willingly, resting his golden head on the elven lord’s broad shoulder for a long moment while they walked through the flowers.  They walked into a small clearing where Celebrian was sitting on a blanket near the twins, who were happily basking in the attention of the adults around them.  Thranduil was playing with one of them (Elrond thought it was Elrohir - he would have to get closer to tell for sure) while Elladan was distracted by trying to pull himself to his feet, using Glorfindel’s damp shoulder to help.  Thranduil, he noticed, was equally as wet.

 

“Your sons are adorable,” Thranduil said, not bothering to look up from Elrohir.  Elrohir was cackling madly, desperately trying to grab onto the Elvenking’s long blond hair.

 

“Thank you,” Elrond said.  They were adorable if he said so himself.  Perhaps not as striking as the line of Oropher, but adorable nonetheless.  

 

Elladan had lost interest in Glorfindel’s shoulder, and instead dropped down to his hands and knees to crawl towards his father, shrieking his happiness.  In his arms Legolas wiggled to be out down and ran several steps to Elladan, dropping down to sit crossed legged when he got to the infants side. Elladan immediately reached for the older elfling, allowing Legolas to help him stand and using his hands as support to toddler two short steps, only to fall against Legolas with a laugh.  

 

Elrond’s face hurt from smiling so widely, though he felt slightly insulted (if bemused) his son hadn’t even noticed his presence.  Little Legolas was hugging Elladan back, allowing the baby to tip himself into his lap. Elladan pat Legolas face happily, chattering away.  Legolas chattered back happily. Elladan, apparently having spoken his peace, placed a sloppy kiss on the other elfling’s cheek, rubbing it in with the hand that wasn’t supporting himself.  

 

Legolas laughed, and kissed Ellandan back with considerably less amounts of slobber, much to the baby’s delight.  

 

Elrohir, noticing where his twin had gone, made a sound of displeasure.  Thranduil snorted, and helped the baby to his feet. Elrohir was better at walking then his twin, and managed several steps before giving up and deciding crawling over to Legolas and Elladan would be easier and faster.  

 

Elrond sank down to sit on the blanket beside his wife.  Thranduil had moved to a more comfortable position, and lay on his side with his golden head propped up by one hand.  He was gazing at the three elflings with a strange and haunted expression on his face that Elrond could not even begin to understand.  

Glorfindel eyed Thranduil with narrowed eyes, before shaking himself slightly and directing his attention to the children.  

 

“Later,” Celebrian said, voice almost too soft for him to hear.  Elrond nodded once, and leaned over to kiss her cheek. She smiled, looking up at him with dark blue eyes.  Elrond kissed her cheek again, because he could, and turned his attention back to his sons and Legolas.

 

Legolas was now lying down on his back, allowing both twins to climb on him.  Elrohir had climbed on top of the Prince entirely, and was resting his dark head on Legolas’ narrow chest while he chewed on his fingers, and was watching his Legolas’ happy face with intrigued grey eyes. Elladan was using Legolas’ bent knees for balance and had continued to chatter away. Apparently he had much to say to Greenwood’s prince.  Legolas allowed it with good grace, and indeed seemed to be enjoying the twins attention. Elrond wondered suddenly if he’d ever seen someone smaller than him. 

 

“They’ve really taken to him,” Glorfindel said from where he was comfortable lounging.  

 

“I can see that,” Elrond smiled, not taking his eyes off the adorable imagine before him.  

 

Celebrian got up suddenly, moving to lie beside her cousin.  Thranduil flicked her hair away from his face with an annoyed expression.  “Since you’ve been an elfling, you have always got your hair in my face.” 

 

Celebrian crossed her eyes at him teasingly, prompting Thranduil to let out a surprised laugh and push her shoulder playfully.  

 

Elrond always forgot how much time they’d spent together over the years.  Their father’s were kin after all, and wanted their own children to have a close relationship despite the large age difference.  Elrond hoped Legolas and the twins could have a close relationship as well, despite being so distantly related at this point it was barely worth mentioning.  Thranduil, he knew, would balk at his son being related to Noldo at all. Elrond thought it would be mostly for show, but he was never sure with the other elf.  

 

Legolas sat up carefully, Elrohir sill in his lap.  Elladan toddled one step to come round his knees and tried to climb on beside his brother.  “Is it lunchtime Ada?” 

 

Thranduil glanced up at the position of the sun.  “If you are hungry I suppose it must be penneth.” He finally broke into a large smile.  “Do you need some help unburying yourself?”

 

Legolas shook his head, whispering something to the twins, who obligingly moved off of him.  Elrond and Celebrian exchanged surprised looks while Glorfindel laughed aloud. 

 

Legolas stood and walked over slowly to his father, allowing the twins to keep pace with him as they crawled.  Thranduil caught Legolas about the waist and lay down on his back, tossing the elfling into he sky. Legolas giggled maniacally.  

 

“Again Ada!”  

 

The twins stop crawling to watch with happy expressions on their small faces, staring up as Legolas was tossed into the air with ease.  

 

“Again!”

 

Glorfindel, apparently fed up with just watching, darted to his feet, managing to catch Legolas from the air at mid toss.  Thranduil sat up, smiling at his son with a soft expression. Glorfindel ran off with him, helping Legolas reach a high branch, and the two darted into the trees, laughing all the while.  

 

The twins both looked incredibly startled at Legolas’ abrupt departure and seemed to be on the verge of tears.  Elrond started to move, but stopped when Celebrian kicked him in the shin, glaring at him before tilting her head in their guests direction.  

 

Thranduil, seeing the twins expression just as their parents had, had gotten up.  Elladan moved his attention to the tall Elvenking, though Elrohir was still looking for Legolas with teary eyes.  

 

“Should we go and find them then little ones?”  

 

The twins blinked as one, startled.  Thranduil had crouched in front of them, arms held out invitingly.  

 

They glanced to each other (sometimes Elrond was sure they could speak to each other telepathically) before reaching back for the Elvenking as one. Thranduil stood with one twin balanced in each arm, their dark hair striking against his pale gold, and walked off towards the tree without so much as glancing at Elrond or Celebrian.  Elrond half expected him to leap into the trees despite his burden (he would be able to climb with the twins, Elrond knew, but it would still be nerve wracking to watch) but he instead walked below them. The trees shook in happiness, clearly glad to have two wood elves in their midst. Elrond knew they were talking to Thranduil and Legolas both, but had never been able to understand the song of the trees himself.  Watching them now, he wished he could. 

 

Legolas dropped down to a branch near his father’s head, surprising the twins, who shrieked with laughter when seeing him.  He ran along the branch, which looked much to thin to hold even his slight weight, disappearing once more. 

 

Both Elladan and Elrohir immediately started to look for him, babbling away in Thranduil’s ear.  Elrond was sure he knew exactly where Legolas was at all times, and most likely Glorfindel as well.  Balrog Slayer he may be, but even he would be hard pressed to hide from Thranduil among the trees. 

 

Legolas appeared again, this time with Glorfindel holding him aloft high in the boughs of a massive oak.  The prince’s braids had come loose at some point and his hair was wild about his flushed face. Glorfindel’s was not faring much better, not that he would care.  They both looked like they were having the time of their lives. 

 

“Ada, Dan, Ro, we’re here!”

 

Elrond laughed aloud along with Celebrian, who had been grinning widely since Thranduil had scooped their sons up to take closer to the trees.  

 

Elladan and Elrohir waved happily to Legolas.  They were still talking (they did not stop often) and Elrond was able to understand a few words here and there.  

 

“I think they’re trying to say Legolas,” Celebrian said.  

 

Elrond listen closely.  “I think you’re right.” It was coming out more as “Ley” than anything else, but both twins had seemed to reach an agreement on how to say their new friend’s name.  Glorfindel would be disappointed. He’d been trying to teach them our to say some semblance of his name for ages. 

 

Thranduil brought the twins closer to his sides and leapt up onto a low branch. He sat down, feet dangling, and allowed the twins to sit on his lap.  Glorfindel and Legolas came to sit across from them, and Glorfindel produced some sweets from a bag. The three elflings all looked delighted, happily reaching for the offered treat.  Thranduil kept the two energetic infants safe with ease, and Elrond knew Legolas was most likely better at climbing trees then he was. 

 

Celebrian stood, smiling down at him so he would stay comfortable.  “I’ll go ask the servants to bring something to eat,” she said. 

 

Elrond gestured to the five forms nestled in the great oak tree. “They look happy with sweets.”  

 

Celebrian swatted him on the head.  

 

“I love you too!” he called after her retreating form.  She said nothing in reply, and Elrond happily closed his eyes, listening to the wind, the birds, and the lovely sound of three happy elflings.

 

All was good in the world.

  
  


**_###_ **

  
  


Thranduil swirled the wine around in his goblet, staring into the fire.  He’d put Legolas to bed several hours ago, and spent a long time simply watching him drift in dreams.  He’d exhausted himself today, and Thranduil knew he would sleep through until past dawn. Legolas had always hated to sleep. It was if he’d thought he would miss something exciting the moment he gave in, and would fight sleep with everything he had.  He and his wife had spent hours trying to get him to sleep, with his parents helping whenever they could. His cold and stately father had taken to carrying his exhausted grandson around with him when he met with the councillors or did rounds, softer with Legolas then he had ever been with Thranduil.  His mother, who herself had desperately wanted more children but could not have more after healing from the injuries she’d sustaining during the fall of Doriath, had been enchanted by the elfling, and it had sometimes been a fight taking him back from her. 

 

Thranduil wished they’d had more time.  

 

They had all deserved more time.  

 

He took a large gulp of the wine, savoring the vintage.  Elrond had very good taste in alcohol. A servant came by offering some dessert, and he shook his head slightly, still lost in his melancholic thoughts.  He was able to calm his mind when Legolas was awake. Focusing on his little son allowed him to remember the good, remember that there was still light in this world.  That he had to stay. But when he slept… He’d always found it rather amusing in a way. When they had been alive they had all worked so hard for Legolas to sleep for even an hour at a time.  Now that they were all gone though, he wanted Legolas with him always. It was why he still had Legolas sleep in his bed. He’d often read by the light of the stars as his son slept, allowing the soft breaths to keep in sane.  

 

He would have died at Dagorlad along with his wife, father, and so many of their people if he did not have Legolas.  His wife had had no choice, had been cut down without mercy by Sauron’s forces. He had made a choice, one that he had never regretted for a moment.  But that did not make the pain less real. 

 

“I am sorry.”  

 

Thranduil drained the last of his wine, holding the goblet in loose fingers.  “Are you?”

 

Glorfindel didn’t reply immediately, but slouched further in his seat.  They were slightly removed from the rest of the hall of fire, in a area reserved for idle conversation.  They could still see and hear the revelry, but it was quieter here. He had no desire to sing or dance for the moment anyway.  Up until now Glorfindel had been content to leave him in silence. Thranduil couldn’t help but wished he’d remained happy to do so.

 

“I cannot imagine how hard this is.”  

 

Thranduil breathed out sharply through his nose, a noise that Galion and his other long term friends (the ones left) knew meant he was amused, but his temper short.  Most elves in Greenwood understood to give the King a wide berth or to ensure Legolas was brought to him when his mood soured. No one, especially not the King, could remain in a dark mood around the little prince.  

 

“Can you not?” Thranduil asked in a monotone voice.  

 

Glorfindel shrugged, drinking some of his own wine.  “I have lost much,” he said. “My family, closest companions, home, my own life.”  He drank again. “But you have also lost family and friends and your childhood home, when you were considerably smaller than I was. Doriath fell when you were so young.”  He turned his head slightly to the side so he could look at Thranduil. He was leaning his head against the back of the chair, looking altogether too comfortable for such an uncomfortable conversation.  

 

“You died, Lord Glorfindel,” Thranduil snapped.  “I most certainly have not.” 

 

“We both know that’s not necessarily true. And I told you to just call me Glorfindel several thousand years ago. ”

 

Thranduil did not bother to answer, pouring himself another cup of wine.  

 

“You survived the death of your wife.  I have known no such pain. And you’ve managed to rebuild Greenwood and raise a young son, a son who shines with more light then any I’ve ever seen without any help.  You came here, I would imagine, for him.” 

 

“And why,” Thranduil all but growled, voice low and dangerous, “would you imagine that?”  

 

Glorfindel was not one to be cowed, not when he thought there was something that needed to be said.  “By being here you have to watch Elrond and Celebrian, who are able to raise their sons together. Who are able to consider giving the twins siblings.  Who can strengthen and love one another. I would not want to see them in your position.” He sighed again, long legs stretched out in front of him. “But Legolas is happy.  He is able to meet elves near to his age, of which there are so few. He is able to see more of Middle Earth. I imagine that’s the only reason you agreed to come here.” 

 

Thranduil did not say anything for a long moment.  “He deserves everything good in this world,” he finally said in a voice so soft Glorfindel could hardly hear him.  

 

Glorfindel snorted.  “I will not disagree with you on that Thranduil.  Legolas is something special. I have seen many children, though I have none of my own.  I know all parents feel their child is the most special, but I have to tell you, Legolas truly is something unto himself.  He is blessed by the Valar.” 

 

“All elves are blessed by the Valar.”

Glorfindel rolled his eyes.  “True, but your son is destined for greatness Thranduil,” he said, voice heavy with the weight of truth.

 

Thranduil tightened his grip on his goblet.  “I do not want him to be great,” he hissed. “I want him to be happy.”  

 

Glorfindel did laugh then.  “He is happy! I do not think I have ever met an elf with a fea as beautiful as his.  You have raised a truly amazing child. But he is destined for greatness, whether you like it or not.”  Glorfindel stood and made to walk away but stopped beside Thranduil, putting a kind hand on his shoulder.  “He will live through hardship, as all of us here in Middle Earth must, but I believe he will never lose his joy, and that his spirit will stay strong throughout the ages.”  He squeezed Thranduil’s shoulder. “Go to him, I will make excuses for you. You need the peace brought by being by his side as much as he needs your love.” 

 

Thranduil watched him leave, feeling furious, defeated, and confused all at the same time.  It was said Glorfindel had been reincarnated by the Valar to do Their work and act as Their emissary here in Middle Earth, but Thranduil had seen no evidence of that until now.  No evidence until Glorfindel had all but said his son was destined to play some part in the wars to come. Many elves believed Sauron to be well and truly defeated. 

 

Thranduil was not such an elf.  

 

He stood abruptly, draining his goblet once again before leaving the halls to follow Glorfindel’s advice.  Several minutes later he was entering his and Legolas’ shared chambers and walking through to the bedroom in which they were sharing.  He had pulled over one of the chairs from the balcony to the side of the bed earlier, and sat down in it with his eyes glued to Legolas.  He could already feel his soul calming as he watched his son breath, watched his vacant eyes as he drifted in elven dreams. He settled himself more comfortably in the chair, ready to watch his son until dawn’s first light.  

 

For now, in this moment, Legolas was happy and he was safe.  There would be time enough later to worry about his future greatness.  

  
  


**_###_ **

  
  


Legolas blinked as his eyes came into focus, wondering for a moment where he was.  

 

“You tired yourself out yesterday penneth!”  

 

Legolas looked over to the balcony, where his Ada was sitting looking out into the beautiful gardens. He scrambled out of the cozy bed and over to his Ada, climbing onto his lap for a morning cuddle.  His father was wearing the same leggings and tunic as the night before, but had discarded the heavy over robe he wore for formal occasions and his shoes. 

 

“Did you not sleep Ada?”  

 

His father shook his head, looking down at Legolas with a smile that Legolas knew was just for him.  His Ada loved Greenwood and loved his people, but he loved Legolas the most. 

 

Legolas put on his best firm expression, one that was copied from his Ada and one that usually meant he would get the answers he desired.  He did not realise, however, that this was because his father and anyone he tried it on found it far too adorable to resist. “You should sleep at least a little every night Ada. That’s what Galion told me.  And we both know that Galion’s always right.”

 

His Ada hugged him tightly.  “He is, isn’t he?”

 

Legolas nodded, though he knew his Ada didn’t really mean for him to respond.  He settled comfortably on his Ada’s lap, watching the sunlight over the valley of Imladris.  It was beautiful here, and Legolas was happy to get to meet new elves and new trees. Glorfindel and the twins in particular.  A new thought came to him as listened to the birds. “Is it Solstice today?” He thought it was, but he sometimes had trouble keeping track of the days.  

 

Ada nodded. “It is. The longest day of the year.”  

 

“Is that why the sun is up so early?”  He could not remember it ever being so high in the sky when he woke.  

 

Ada laughed and ticked him on the ribs.  “You slept in ion-nin, for perhaps the first time in your life! Breakfast has long since past.”

 

Legolas’ eyes widened.  “I did?” 

 

Ada nodded, hugging him close now that he’d finished with his tickling.  Legolas went willingly, turning so he could hug Ada back. His Ada felt like he was sad, and Legolas never wanted Ada to be sad.  He felt like this a lot, especially when he hadn’t slept. Legolas knew it was because he was thinking too much, and missing everyone that had left.  He missed them as well, even though his memories of were fading, but knew they’d meet again someday. Galion had said so, and Galion was never wrong. Ada must miss them more though, for he had known them better.  

 

He tightened his arms around Ada, trying to pour as much love into his embrace as possible.  Ada hugged him back, kissing the crown on his head. They stayed that way for a long moment, until Legolas began to wiggle.  It was morning after all. 

 

Ada lifted him down, and he darted into the bathroom to relieve himself.  When he came out Ada was sorting through his clothing. There were servants who could do this, but Ada usually dressed him himself.  Legolas was glad. He loved the servants who attended to him and Ada, but Ada was the best. 

 

“Do we have to wait for lunch to eat?” he asked worriedly.  

 

Ada chuckled.  “No, penneth. Some food will be brought up to us shortly.  I thought we could spend some time together, just the two of us, before joining everyone else?”  

 

Legolas bounced on the bed as he watched Ada shake out one of his fanciest outfits, laying ready on a chair.  He enjoyed spending time with his new friends, but spending time just him and Ada his favourite. They would be in Imladris for some time yet after all, he would have plenty of time to play with the twins and Glorfindel, and to hear more stories from Elrond and cuddle with Celebrian.  He even thought he could get Erestor to play with him eventually. So far the older elf had told him lots of stories, but was very formal. Legolas knew he could change that. He was good at making people happy. 

 

Ada changed himself first, putting on simple brown leggings and a plain tunic the colour of new leaves before pulling on some simple shoes.  

 

“Do you need help undressing Legolas?”  

 

Legolas shook his head.  He was a big elf now, and could get himself undressed.  He still needed help sometimes, but less and less now. He did, however, need help putting on his formal clothing.  There were too many little buttons and laces for him to manage. But that was for later. He pulled on the leggings Ada gave him, carefully making sure they were the right way round, and allowed Ada to help him lace them and to put on a comfortable tunic a pale shade of green.  He and Ada were matching again, though Legolas knew it was so they could play in the trees without being seen. Ada didn’t make him put on his own shoes, a fact he was very happy about. 

 

While they’d dressed food had arrived, and Ada brushed his own hair as Legolas ate.  The pastries here in Imladris were delicious. He wondered if Elrond would allow him to take some back to Greenwood when they left.  Ada had finished with his own hair now, tying it back in a simple plait that nearly reached his waist and started brushing Legolas’ much shorter hair.  

 

“Can I have a plait like you Ada?”  

 

Ada kept brushing.  He was very good at brushing hair, and never pulled.  Not like when Legolas attempted to brush his own hair, or on the occasions when he helped Ada to brush his.  “If you like, ion-nin,” he said. “Though it will have to be against your head so it all stays in place, not one like mine.”  

 

“Alright Ada,” he replied, though he would like to match Ada exactly.  But he also did not want his hair bothering him while they played in the trees.  Ada quickly parted his hair down the centre of his scalp, and braided two three strand braids against his scalp on either side of his head, before plating the ends of them together at the back of his head.  Legolas grinned. Ada did his hair like this when they were going to spends hours in the trees. Ada tied it off with his favourite green ribbon (one that was getting rather threadbare with so much use) before kissing the top of his head.  

 

“Can we climb out the balcony?”  Legolas asked, eyeing the large maple tree within reaching distance.  The tree, sensing he was thinking about it, shook with happiness and filled his head with its joy, begging him to come and play.

 

Ada laughed, drawing him off the bed and onto his hip.  He touched his nose to Legolas’, crossing his eyes. Legolas tried to cross his back, but didn’t quite manage it.  He settled instead for grabbing Ada’s cheeks and blowing up his own cheeks like a chipmunk. 

 

“I don’t see why not,” Ada responded with a laugh.  Legolas was pleased. Ada’s fae seemed much brighter now.  

 

“Thank you Ada!”

 

Ada walked out to the balcony, gently lifting Legolas over the delicate wrought iron railing and onto the maple tree.  The maple, sensing the Elvenking’s intent, lowered its branches helpfully. No wood elf, especially not the little prince, would fall under its watch.  Several birds and animals came over to investigate what the two royals were doing, happy to have them among them. 

 

Legolas crumbled nimbly closer to the great trunk of the tree, making sure Ada had enough room.  Ada leapt over the railing in a swift movement that had Legolas gasping in pleasure, before coming to sit beside him.  “Are you still hungry tithin pen?” 

 

Legolas eyed his Ada.  Ada had a small smile on his face, one that usually meant some sort of mischief.  Legolas giggled happily. “Maybe?” 

 

Ada laughed as well, setting a folded napkin on his lap.  “Would you like to share this?” He unwrapped on of the delicious pastries, this one flavoured with lemons.  

 

Legolas nodded eagerly.  Ada tore off a piece, offering it to Legolas while keeping the other part in his lap.  Legolas knew he was saving it to see if he wanted anymore, and promised himself he would let Ada have it.  

 

Ada deserved it.  

  
  


**_###_ **

  
  


Elrond walked into the large clearing, glad to see the various members of his household busy putting the finishing touches on the decorations.  For summer solstice they celebrated under the sky rather than in the Hall of Fire. Decorations had been strung from the trees, and large tables had been set up around the perimeter of the glade.  The middle would be reserved for dancing.

 

“Da da da da!”

 

Elrond turned with a grin, watching Elrohir take several toddling steps towards him, Glorfindel close behind helping Elladan to walk with both hands.  His wife, he knew, was in the kitchens helping to prepare for the celebrations. His kitchens were well organised, but even a well organised kitchen got busy with a feast of this scale.  

 

His smile somehow widened when Elrohir reached him triumphantly, and he bent to pick the baby up, tossing him into the air.  “Good walking penneth,” he praised. “And you too Elladan!” he continued when the other twin reached him. Glorfindel picked Elladan up, passing him over to Elrond.  Elrond held them both with the expertise of long practise, being sure to pay both twins an equal amount of attention. They were chattering away, intent on telling him all about their day.  He answered back seriously, ignoring Glorfindel at his side for the time being. 

 

Elladan, apparently finished telling his father about his day, looked around the clearing in dismay.  “Ley?” 

 

Elrohir looked around as well.  “Ley!” 

 

Glorfindel made a face, ignoring Elrond’s smirk.  He understood why the twins said Legolas’ name first, but that did not mean he wasn’t slightly disappointed.  “They’ve been looking for Legolas all day,” he told Elrond. “They’re quite unhappy they haven’t found him yet.”  

 

Indeep, both twins looked rather displeased there new friend wasn’t around.  

 

“I saw Legolas and Thranduil depart for the trees midmorning,” Glorfindel said.  “They walked right out the balcony.” 

 

Elrond snorted.  Trust a wood elf…

 

“I believe Thranduil needed some time alone with his son,” Glorfindel continued, a very slight guilty look on his fair face.  Only one who knew him incredibly well would spot it. Thankfully, Elrond did know him incredibly well. 

 

“What did you say to him?”  

 

“Hmmm?”

 

“What did you say to Thranduil to cause him to absence himself and his son all day?” he clarified, feeling slightly cross.  Thranduil was a guest in his house, he wanted him to be able to think of Imladris as a haven of sorts as so many elves did. 

 

Glorfindel sighed, taking a grumpy Elladan into his arms.  

 

“Don’t think you can get away with not answering because you’re holding my son,” Elrond said archly.  

 

“Get away with not answering what?”  Celebrian asked, a suspicious look in her grey eyes as she approached the two elves on silent feet, her duties in the kitchens finished.

 

Glorfindel rolled his own eyes, looked exasperated.  

 

“What he said to Thranduil to cause him to take Legolas off into the trees all day and avoid everyone.”  

 

Celebrian crossed her arms over her chest, staring Glorfindel down. It was moments like this, when she stared at someone like a dragon, that they all were reminded exactly who her mother was.  “Glorfindel?” She said softly. Elrond winced. That tone never bode well for anyone, and she had proven to be rather protective of her Greenwood kin. Elrond almost felt sorry for Glorfindel.

 

Almost.  

 

Glorfindel sighed, handing a reaching Elladan over to his mother’s waiting arms.  “Things that needed to be said, though were hard for Thranduil to hear,” he answered cryptically.  His eyes were distant, as though he was looking at something far away.

 

Elrond and Celebrian exchanges glances.  They often forgot, as did most of the inhabitants of Imladris, that Glorfindel had been reincarnated by the Valar to act as their emissary here on Middle Earth, that he was not just a simple elf living amongst them.  

 

Celebrian wasn’t having it however.  She’d come to love Legolas very quickly (he was a hard child not to love) and was close to Thranduil despite not having seen him for several centuries.  “What did you say?” 

 

Glorfindel visibly shook himself, eyes focusing with seeming great difficulty.  “Things for his ears alone Celebrian,” he finally answered. His voice was firm in a way it usually was not, and Elrond knew they would get no more answers from him.  

 

Celebrian, of course, was not happy.  “Glorfindel,” she hissed, not caring that she was getting angry with an elf of his standing.  Her mother was Galadriel, she was not easily cowed. “You said something that made Thranduil run.  Was it involving Legolas? Or about Falathiel?” she continued, naming Thranduil’s slaughtered wife.  “I know my cousin. He is not one to hide from difficult conversations, not unless they involve those he loves.”  

 

“Celebrian,” Elrond said softly, laying a hand on her arm.  The twins were silent, sensing the tension in the air. Celebrian shrugged him off, eyes narrowing.  Glorfindel stood his ground, relaxed as he always seemed, but unwilling to speak further. 

 

“My Lords, my Lady!”

 

Elrond could have kissed Lindir.  The other elf, unaware of the tension, approached them with quick steps, only stopping once he was in the midst.  Celebrian let out an almost inaudible breath, annoyed at being interrupted. 

 

“Lindir!” Elrond said happily.  “How are the preparations?” 

 

“Complete, my lord.”  

 

“Well done Lindir,” he said with a smile.  “Why don’t you and Lady Celebrian finish here then?  Lord Glorfindel and I are needed elsewhere.” He could only hope that they joy on the celebration would stop his wife from being too angry at him for separating her for her prey.  He had no interest in sleeping in one of the guest rooms. Again. 

 

Lindir nodded, and Elrond grabbed Glorfindel by the arm, pulling him away.  The other elf went willingly, whistling a cheerful tune. 

 

“She’s not going to give up,” Elrond warned his oldest friend.  

 

Glorfindel shook his head.  “It does not matter,” he said bluntly.  “I did not lie when I said it was not for her ears.  She’ll have to ask Thranduil if she is so desperate.”  

 

Elrond closed his eyes briefly.  They both knew she would not ask, and even if she did Thranduil would not tell.  He hoisted Elrohir up higher in his arms, deciding that giving his son some attention was better than talking to Glorfindel when he was like this.  Elrohir grabbed his nose, cackling. 

 

“That’s a lovely sound,” came a new voice.  

 

“Hello Elrohir!”  

 

Elrond didn’t know how Legolas managed to tell the twins apart every time when he himself sometimes had difficulties, but the child managed it.  

 

Elrohir, thrilled to hear his new friends voice, tried to launch himself from his father’s arms, shrieking his joy for all to hear.  Elrond let him down, watching with an indulgent grin as he toddled towards where Thranduil and Legolas had emerged. Thranduil had Legolas balanced on his hip, and the blond child seemed perfectly content to remain in his father’s arms as Elrohir wobbled his way towards them.  When they got closer Thranduil crouched down so Elrohir could better greet Legolas before scooping the baby up. Elrohir ignored Thranduil in favour of greeting the Prince, gently patting his pale cheek with one hand and saying his name over and over again. 

 

Thranduil and Legolas both had dressed for the celebrations, looking every inch the King and Crown Prince of Greenwood the Great.  Thranduil’s rich and layered robes were in the style of the ages past, and Elrond was sure they had once belonged to his father Oropher.  Legolas, likewise, was dressed richly, wearing multiple shades of white, gold, and cream. The gold made his green eyes stand out even more, as did his crown of spring flowers.  Elrond itched to take Elrohir away before he drooled on their clothing or worse, spit up. 

 

The Elvenking did not seem to care about the potential threat to his clothing however, and was watching Legolas interact with Elrohir with that same expression on his face Elrond had noticed the other day.  Joyful and devastated and proud all at once. Elrond decided not to take Elrohir from the other’s arms, but was well prepared to apologise should the worst happen, as it often did with small children about. 

 

The elflings looked far too happy in any case.  It would be a shame to separate them.

  
  
  


**_###_ **

  
  
  


Thranduil watched as Legolas spun round in joyful circles, giggling to the point of breathlessness.  He’d long since abandoned his shoes and overrobe, declaring they made it harder to dance, and was wearing leggings and a tunic of the brightest white, covered in delicate gold embroidery and pearl buttons.  He kept his flower crown on, though his hair was now a mess about his shoulders and constantly getting in his eyes. Even in his state of dishevelment however, he appeared every inch an elven prince. Like a character from a mortal story, told to children.  Fey and beautiful and ethereal all at once, with a joyful grin lighting up his face. Adult elves were watching him with indulgent looks, all enjoying having the child amongst them no matter their feelings for his father. The twins were the first elflings to be born in this new age, and had long since lost the battle to sleep.  Legolas was by far the youngest still among them, and was much indulged.

 

Thranduil knew his son would not be sleeping this night.  He was so much a child of the stars, and their light seemed to be filling him.  He was glowing with his joy and his love of the world, dancing through the elves of Imladris, enjoying their solstice celebrations with all of his young heart.   

 

Thranduil laughed to himself, putting down his wine.  He’d spent enough time watching over his son in fear, too much time worrying over Glorfindel’s ominous words.  Legolas would be great, or he would not. He would take part in the war that was coming, or he would not. He could be a warrior or a healer or both like his mother had been.  He could likewise decide to be a scholar. Thranduil cared not. Legolas would have duties as his heir, that was true, but not for many years yet. And even then Thranduil would ensure that his tithin las, his little leaf, would always have cause to smile.  He would ensure that he never lost his joyful view of the world. No matter what. 

 

Thranduil kicked off his own shoes and shrugged off his heavily jewelled robe, leaving him garbed in a similar fashion to his still spinning child, and made his way through the dancing elves.  They parted for him, still nervous and slightly fearful of the Elvenking in their midst. Thranduil ignored them, and scooped a dizzy Legolas up in his arms. 

 

“Ada!”  

 

“Legolas,” Thranduil said back, touched their foreheads together.  Their crowns were knocked slightly askew, but neither of them cared in the least.  

 

He spun them round in circles, ignoring all the other elves around them, focusing only the little light in his arms. Legolas leaned backwards and threw his arms out wide, head tilted up to the stars and green eyes wide and trusting that his father would never let him fall.  Thranduil grinned, and when Legolas started to laugh up at the sky, he could not help but do so as well. 

 


	5. A Meeting with a Dwarf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Legolas meets a dwarf with the help of the trees. He's the only one pleased by this development. Legolas' guard cannot help but think he needs another guard (one is not enough to watch over the Prince), Thranduil hopes Legolas does not try to keep the dwarf as a pet, and the dwarf just hopes to escape with his life. 
> 
> Legolas is having the time of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've this idea in my head since starting this little collection of stories, though it has been the hardest chapter to write for some reason, thus the longer wait. Small warning for elves and dwarves disliking each other, and those prejudices being pushed on Legolas.

Asger, son of Egel, looked round in dismay. He did not know how it had happened but he was completely and utterly lost. He had been travelling through Greenwood with his kin, following the largest of the elven paths, when he'd somehow managed to fall behind. It should have been easy to catch up - after all, the path was bright and well decorated, obvious for all to see. But no matter how far he'd walked, he had not found his fellow dwarves. Then he had blinked and the very trees had moved, the path gone. He'd heard tales that the woods were magic, that the trees themselves were sentient and did not always like strangers, but he had thought them to be just tales meant to frighten the young and gullible.

 

Now however, he was beginning to think them true. What else could explain this? He was in the middle of the woods, and the massive trees of Greenwood were swaying despite there being no wind. 

 

No…

 

He narrowed dark eyes, unconsciously stroking his long beard as he stared up at the trees. Only some of them were swaying, moving their branches in odd ways. It was almost as though they were trying to lead him somewhere. He snorted. Trees, he'd decided, were far too flighty. He much preferred solid stone.

 

A bird flew into his face, chirping loudly. He swatted at it, annoyed and bewildered by the turn of events. He was already lost, he did not need a bird pecking at him now. The bird ignored him, still chirping loudly and angrily. He wondered what he'd done to offend it. Several squirrels seemed to take the birds actions as a sign, and ran around his feet.

 

"Aule, get off of me!" he snapped, barely resisting the urge to take out his ax. One of his companions had made that mistake earlier, and the sound the trees had made had been down right horrifying. They'd all learned to leave their axes alone very quickly, least they wanted to be killed by a tree.

The woodland creatures ignored him.

 

"Fine!" he finally shouted, becoming more and more flustered as other creatures joined in. A fox had joined them as well now, and Asger was beginning to fear what animal would be next. He had no interest in finding out. Even he, a strong and skilled warrior, would have difficulty defending himself if a bunch of wolves descended on him. Last he had known they were in an area of the wood that was not often patrolled by elves, and help could be a long time coming. Best to give into the crazed animals if he wanted to keep his life.

 

The animals, sensing his compliance, ran through the path the trees had made, looking back periodically to ensure he was following. He scoffed. It was not as if he had a choice, what with how the animals were acting Not to mention the trees. The sooner he got this… whatever this was… over with the better! Aule, he'd never hear the end of this if the others found out!

 

He walked for several more minutes before coming to a small clearing, in the middle of which was a clear pond. It was a beautiful place, and if he were one to appreciate nature he may have stopped to take it all in. But he was a dwarf, and he appreciated good strong stone, not nature that seemed likely to turn against him if he did not listen.

 

"Damn it all," he muttered angrily. This was not a situation in which he wanted to find himself in.

 

Once he was in the clearing properly the trees stopped their swaying, and the birds seemed to relax. Only a fox stayed with him, twining itself around his feet and leading him to the largest tree in the clearing.

 

Asger stopped short. "Huh," he finally said. "Would ya look at that?"

 

A small elf child was asleep on one of the lowest branches of the trees, one leg dangling down just above Asger's eyeline. Asger was no good at guessing ages of elves (how could he be, they could look like they had just reached their majority yet be thousands of years old) but even he could tell this one was barely more than a toddler. Aule, it was probably shorter than he was, and he was on the short side for a dwarf!

 

He stood under the boughs of the tree for a long moment, unsure of what to do. The trees and the animals had clearly wanted him to come upon the elfling, but he was loathe to wake it. Elves were equally as protective of their young as dwarves were, and he knew its parents would be nearby. He also knew if a dwarf came upon an elf near their child they would attack first and ask questions later. He did not doubt the same would be true of this situation. He was a fearsome warrior, but understood his limits. He would be no match for protective elven parents, not when the forest itself would likewise be set against him.

 

He made to turn away, hoping that the animals and trees would sense how ill at ease he was and let him leave the clearing. He'd somehow make his way through the forest on his own and find his kin, or at least a patrol who could help him on his way. He'd happily deal with uppity elves over this strangeness.

 

The trees swayed around him again, though neither they nor the animals attempted to stop him from leaving.

 

Something else did that.

 

The elfling made a noise.

 

Asger could not understand what it had said (he could understand a few words in their language, but not many) but knew that it was addressing him. He turned round, seeing no other option.

 

The elfling was standing on the soft grass with bare feet, staying at Asger with wide green eyes. Asger hated elf eyes. They always seemed to be looking directly into your soul. This child's gaze was no different, though it did not have the same eerie agelessness that the adults of his kind did. If he didn't know better, he would guess this child was no more than five summers.

 

The child took a step closer. Asger determinedly did not take a step back.

 

"Hello!" The child said, it's voice bright and lightly accented in the way of all wood elves. "My name is Legolas. What is yours?"

 

Asger blinked. This was not what he had expected. He had expected the child to start screaming, to raise some sort of alarm, not to cheerfully greet him. "My name is Asger," he said dumbly, not sure what else to say. Elf or not, no dwarf would ever do something that would hurt a child.

 

"I am pleased to meet you," the little one said politely, head cocked to the side like a bird. "Are you a dwarf?"

 

"I.. I am."

 

The child (Legolas) grinned, showing off a set of dimples. "Ada said dwarves were passing through the forest! I'm so glad I got to meet you! I've never met a dwarf before. Is is true that you live deep underground where there are no trees?"

 

Asger felt the pressing need to take a drink, or to at least sit down. He did neither however, instead focusing on the child in front of him. Legolas had taken several steps closer to him at this point, and was ignoring the owl that was fluttering around their heads. Asger had no idea what an owl was doing awake in the middle of the day, but assumed it had something to do with the little elf.

 

"We live very deep underground," he answered truthfully, not sure what else to say. "Nothing is able to grow that deep."

 

Legolas' too bright eyes widened in shock. "Don't you get lonely without the trees to talk too?"

 

Asger fought the urge to snort, or to laugh hysterically. He'd heard rumours elves could speak to trees and other plants but had dismissed it as nonsense. Apparently not. "Dwarves cannot speak to the trees," he said instead. "Nor can humans."

 

The little child's bottom lip stuck out in a pout. "That's sad," it declared. He had to figure out whether the elfling was male or female. He could not keep calling them it. The child was wearing naught but a long tunic, belted at the waist, and no leggings or shoes, but either gender could wear that. It's clothing was also very richly decorated, and Asger had a sinking feeling that this was the child of an elf of great importance.

 

His own chances of survival were slim, unless he got the elf on his side. If the child liked him, maybe it's parents would show mercy? He was still shocked they had not appeared.

 

The owl had now landed on the child's slim (and oh so fragile looking) shoulder. Legolas turned to smile at it, and Asger took the chance to take a step forward.

 

Immediately an adult elf dropped from the tree above his head, landing between him and the elfling with no sound whatsoever. He had no weapons drawn, but Asger knew he would not need weapons to kill him. Not with such an intense look in his narrowed grey eyes. This elf had long dark hair, and was dressed in clothing similar to those that the elves who were guiding his party had been wearing, though his were slightly more decorated. Something told him, however, that this new elf was not the little ones father. Perhaps a guard of some sort?

 

"Arbellason!" Legolas cried, leaping forwards and hugging the elven warrior. Arbellason caught him easily, eyes never leaving Asger.

 

"Ernil-nin," the elder elf said in a dangerous voice, before speaking in a torrent of one elvish language or another to the child. The child simply looked at him with wide emerald eyes, far too innocently, before it started to speak.

 

Agler may not have children of his own, but even he could recognize a child attempting to wheedle something out of an adult. To his surprise, the warrior only laughed, putting the child down with a murmur. The owl that had been flying around them flew off to Aule knew where.

 

"Master Dwarf," Arbelleson said in a musical voice. "I believe you are owed an apology."

 

He grunted in surprise. "Am I?" he demanded, fighting not to let his confusion show.

 

The too tall elf looked down at the curious child at his side. "Birds told Legolas that your group was passing through the forest, and he grew curious."

 

Asger gave in and grunted. Of all the things…

 

Arbelleson was looking at the little elfling now, a bemused look on his face. Asger hadn't known elves could look anything but inscrutable or vaguely smug. Maybe this one was young as well?

 

"So that is why the trees were acting so oddly?" he asked, unable to help himself. He'd quite like for the trees to never act like that again, thank you very much. He would willingly ask an elf if it meant he would have an answer.

 

The elf nodded once. "The trees are particularly fond of Legolas. They will not normally lead you astray, not unless they think you mean us or them harm."

 

Legolas, apparently fed up with being talked over, peaked around Arbellason's long legs. Arbelleson allowed him to, but Asger noticed that his hand tightened on the youngling's shoulder, and his other hand was grasping some sort of weapon. Asger was not offended. He would do the same, and expected no less. If he were not so put off by the situation he would have been reacting much differently. The behaviour of the trees and animals had thrown him greatly, and the elf child's appearance had left him reeling. At this point the adult elf before him was his only semblance of normalcy, one that he welcomed gladly for all that he disliked elves immensely.

 

"Asger, what does…"

 

Arbelleson cut him off with a quick but kind sounding word, sweeping the little child into his arms in a swift movement.

 

"Come," the elven warrior said. "We will lead you back to your group."

 

Asger, hating to follow an elf but seeing no other option, stepped in behind him, studiously ignoring the curious green eyes that never seemed to look away from him. The child whispered something to his guardian, who let him down without a word. Arbelleson didn't even look back to ensure the dwarf was following, but Asger knew he'd have a knife buried in his chest if he so much as looked at the child wrong. Or perhaps he would not need to. That owl had seemed awfully protective of the child.

 

Not to mention the trees… Aule, he would never be able to look at an oak tree the same way again.

 

"What is your home like?" Asger blinked down at the little one who'd began to walk beside him. The child looked to be as delicate as the birds that fluttered around him, and walked without leaving any impression on the ground.

 

"It is carved deep in the mountains," Asger said after several moments of silence, seeing no other option but to answer. "We mine precious metals that glow in the torchlight, and some glow on their own. The caves are always awash in colour."

 

Legolas had slowly inched closer to him, and was staring up at him with open curiosity.

 

"But no sunlight?" he prompted.

 

Asger shook his head. "Not once you go deep. The caves closer to the surface have light however, from vents cut into the high ceilings."

 

The child slipped his small and fragile hand into Asger's calloused and worn palm. "The colours sound wonderful," he said, skipping along. "But no sunlight? What about starlight, is there starlight in the caves?"

 

Despite himself Asger chuckled. Younglings were the same no matter what race they were from it appeared. Curious beyond all else. "No, no sunlight and no starlight. And," he continued before Legolas could ask. "No moonlight either."

 

Legolas made a shocked sound at his side, using Asger's hand to swing himself forwards. The owl was still following them, hooting softly, and Asger was sure Arbelleson was listening to every word. And that wasn't taking into account the trees… he didn't know if the trees of Greenwood the Great were capable of killing a dwarf, but he was in no hurry to find out.

 

"But how do you hear Elbereth's song then!"

 

The older elf said something in Elvish (Asger did not think it was Sindarin, Silvan perhaps?) and Legolas gasped something back, sounding surprised and annoyed at the same time.

 

"We are nearing your group Master Dwarf," Arbellason said to Asger, turning back and looking at the odd spectacle behind him. The owl was still fluttering around Legolas' fair head, scolding the youngling for his lack of concern for his own safety. The dwarf, a stout fellow with a wonderfully wrinkled face, seemed resigned to his fate. Most likely he thought he had narrowly escaped with his life with how the tree had been behaving. He would likely never enter a forest again after his experiences here, not if he could help it.

 

Legolas, in contrast, looked as though he was having the time of his young life. He was still clasping the old dwarf's hand tightly in his own, and Arbelleson knew it would be difficult in the extreme to make him let go. He turned back to watch the beauty of the forest around them, knowing the trees would warn him if his charge was in any danger from the dwarf. Legolas would not care if he watched, in fact he expected his guard to do so when they were not in the palace, however the dwarf would be more open with Legolas without him observing. The trees were calm, as were all the nearby animals save the nervous owl fluttering about Legolas. The prince was as safe as he could be given the circumstances, which was very safe indeed.

 

He almost felt sorry for the dwarf. Especially as he had to face the Prince's curious inquiries. Those eyes were impossible to say no to for most beings, no matter how strong they thought themselves to be. The only one who'd managed to say no to Legolas was Greenwood's old cook, a elleth who was so old even Oropher had been nervous around her. And even she had only managed to tell the child no once! The dwarf did not stand a chance.

 

He heard the dwarf stuttering out some sort of explanation about his home but ignored him. Legolas would doubtlessly be talking about this encounter for years to come - he did not need to know what the dwarf was trying to say now. Now it was far more important to get the dwarf back to his group and get Legolas back to his father. How the Princeling had convinced the trees to mislead the dwarf so much, he did not know, nor particularly want to know. It bode well for them keeping him safe, but it was a bit worrying that the trees and woodland creatures would listen to the Prince over his guard, and even over the King. He was considering asking Aran Thranduil if an additional guard could be assigned to the Prince. There was no way he would be able to keep the little hellion out of mischief throughout his childhood, let along adolescence and beyond!

 

He laughed to himself, brushing black hair from his eyes. He'd braided it neatly this morning, but Legolas had wanted to swim in a pond near the palace shortly before lunch. He'd had no reason or desire to tell the child no, and thus was looking slightly bedraggled. He loved Legolas desperately, as much as he would love a child of his own flesh and blood or a younger sibling. The little prince was energetic beyond belief, insatiably curious, and did not seem to comprehend that there was anything in this world that could ever hurt him - which if Arbellason had his way, nothing ever would. But he was also kind to every creature he came across, as evidence by his meeting with the grumpy old dwarf, and the first elf to offer another comfort no matter their station. He smiled at everyone he met, and his curiosity meant he was genuinely interested in his people and their wants and needs. He wanted to know what they were doing and wanted to help. For all his energy he was a truly kind and joyful soul.

 

Arbelleson still knew he'd need a second guard to look after him however. One elf, even a trained warrior, was not enough to keep track of the elfling with the forest aiding and abetting his every whim.

 

**_###_ **

 

Thranduil held up a hand to halt the councillor who was speaking when several birds flew into the room, all chirping madly. Apparently his son had done something that even they disapproved of! He was sure if he were closer to the trees instead of trapped in the massive courtroom he would hear them as well. That is, unless Legolas had finally managed to convince them to keep secrets from their king. Thranduil knew it was only a matter of time. The trees, indeed every sentient in the forest it seemed, loved Legolas more than their King. Normally Thranduil did not care. After all, loyalty to his son was loyalty to him, and if his son was loved he would be kept safe. But as he grew Thranduil found himself running into several unforeseen consequences of the forest's adoration of his child.

 

"He's done what?" he spluttered, unsure as to whether he wanted to laugh or put his head down on the table and cry.

 

"Your Majesty?" came a hesitant voice. Thranduil drew his gaze away from the birds, looking instead at his advisors. Several of them had served his father, and he knew them well, while many more were new and still getting used to him and his moods. He had made an effort to include more Silvan elves on his council, and they at least seemed to understand him and his at time odd ways, but the Sindar nobles he'd included were looking at him as though he'd gone mad.

 

"It appears," he said, still fighting the urge to lay his head in his hands. "That Prince Legolas has convinced the trees to mislead one of the dwarves passing through our land in order to meet them. He wants to keep said dwarf as a pet."

 

There was a beat of silence, before the Thanlionwen, the head of Greenwood's Armies, barked out a laugh, covering her mouth with a hand. Several other councillors joined in, while most of the others looked surprised and bewildered at the turn of conversation.

 

"The Prince wants to… keep a dwarf as a pet?" asked Benion, one of the Sindar, looking as though he was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He had several children of his own, all grown, and a young granddaughter Thranduil was keep to introduce Legolas to. He knew the mischief young elves could get into.

 

Thranduil eyed the birds again. "Yes. According the these birds and the trees, Legolas is rather distraught that dwarves cannot hear the trees or the stars. He wishes to remedy that."

 

Beside him Galion was smirking, knowing full well that Thranduil would spent most of his evening trying to explain to Legolas that not all races could hear Arda's song as clearly as the elves. Hopefully Arbellason would be able to convince Legolas not to bring to dwarf to the stronghold. He made a note to himself, Arbelleson deserved some sort of reward for his service. Legolas adored him, and was growing into his own person away from his father's side with Arbellason's help. However, the poor elf would soon be run ragged. He had not made any complaints, but Thranduil knew his son well.

 

Perhaps his old nursemaid from Doriath, Miluiel, would be willing to relocate from Lorien to Greenwood? She visited frequently to see her kin, and Thranduil knew she would adore Legolas.

 

But that was something to think about at a later date. For now he had to deal with the current issue.

 

"Would you like me to go and meet the Prince and Arbelleson?" Thanlionwen asked with a smirk.

 

Thranduil levelled one of his oldest friends with a look, one that had many councillors shifting in their seats. Thanlionwen knew better however, and met his gaze fearlessly. She had been raised alongside him in Doriath, the only child of Sindarin nobles, and her family had followed his to Greenwood after its destruction. For a time there had been talk about them being married, but they had both known it was not to be. She had been the commander of Greenwoods armies for several millennia now, and he valued her wise instincts.

 

"Do you not have anything further to add?" he asked instead, gesturing to the papers strewn on the table.

 

She snorted and rolled her grey eyes, the scar across her brow pulling at the motion. "Hardly. You do not need my insights on trade agreements your Majesty."

 

"Very well," he sighed, knowing that he had no reason to deny her, and also no reason to go himself for all he wanted to escape to the woods and be with his son regardless of the dwarves. "Go find my errant child, and please endeavour to stop him from bringing the dwarf back to the palace. We would never get rid of the stink."

 

**_###_ **

 

Asger fought the urge to weep with relief when he, the elfling, and the two older elves came upon his people. Another elf, this one a female, had joined his motley group near an hour ago, and Asger had spent most of the time sure she was going to kill him in some horrible manner. Arbelleson, for all his protectiveness, seemed like a kitten next to the female. She was taller than even the tall male elf, with a scar across her brow and eye. Her hair was a silvery colour, held back in a multitude of braids and interlaced with leather. Something told Asger that this elleth had seem more battles than he and his kin combined, and come out on top in every one. Everything about her, from her hair to her clothing, screamed readiness for combat despite the times of peace.

 

The elfling, of course, did not seem to see this, and had thrown himself into her arms the moment she had appeared, dropping out of a tree directly in front of them.

 

She looked more similar to child, what with her pale skin and hair, but something about her manner lead him to believe she was yet another guard of some sort. Just who was this elfling?

 

Legolas (who had gotten cross when he had not referred to him by his name, and Asger was not willing to involve the older elves if he could help it) was still clinging to his hand, drawing several looks from his fellow dwarves as they approached. The elves guiding them had a much more surprising reacting, all bowing directly to the child.

 

Asger stared down at the elf clutching at his hand happily, feeling slightly lightheaded.

 

The Elvenking was said to have a son, though surely he was older than this little lad? But… elves aged so slowly in comparison to mortals, so perhaps... Asger's mouth suddenly felt extremely dry.

 

"You have lost someone, Calenon," the she elf said with a scolding tone, one that had the other elves had straightening. They all looked to be rather frightened of her to Asger's observant eye. Not that he blamed them!

 

Calenon, the leader of the patrol guiding his fellows, shrugged elegantly, a sunny smile suddenly on his face. "Who are we to disagree with the little one?" he said.

Legolas giggled, but did not let go of Asger's suddenly sweaty hand.

 

"We were ensured you were on your way back, Master Dwarf," another elf said. Asger could not tell if this one were male of female, and made no effort to try.

 

Vale, the leader of his group, harrumphed loudly and disapprovingly.

 

This proved to be a mistake, as it drew Legolas' attention to him. Vale seemed to shrink back slightly as the elfling's bright green eyes focused unblinkingly on him.

 

"Hello!" Legolas chirped. Immediately all the elves save the terrifying female started at Vale, all with an intense protective look in their eyes. Asger knew then that this little child was none other than the Elvenking's own son and heir. He could only hope Vale reacted well, having no chance to warn his kinsman about just who he was addressing.

 

Vale grunted in lieu of replying, clearly unsure of how to react and choosing the familiar, though the Prince seemed unperturbed by the less than stellar greeting.

 

Arbelleson said something to Legolas, his voice gentle and soft. The prince pouted, clearly displeased by what his guard (for surely, the elf must be his guard) said to him. The elleth with the scar on her face laughed, a sound that should have been light and whimsical as all elvish laughter was, but from hers sounded vaguely foreboding. Asger noticed several of his kin shifting on their feet, and knew they were fighting the urge to draw their weapons.

 

The prince didn't seem to notice or care (and why would he - rumours concerning King Thranduil had reached for and wide by now, and members of all the free races knew not to cross him) about her laugh or the reactions to it, and turned his pout to her. She said something in elvish, promoting the little prince to break out into a smile before scaling her like a tree, mindful of the copious amount of weaponry she was carrying. Arbelleson flicked him in the nose, causing him to break into high pitched giggles. The rest of the elves were watching the child indulgently, though Asger noticed that they were all touching a weapon and clearly prepared to defend him. Vale and the others dwarves had also noticed the protective stances of their guides, and had seemed to make a point in moving their hands away from their weapons.

 

Elf or not, no dwarf would ever even consider harming a child, and would not begrudge and elf for defending one. There were some lines that simply were not to be crossed, no matter how ancient the feud. It was also clear that this elfling was particularly beloved by all of the elves. No, the dwarven group was not foolish. They would not do anything that would threaten the child, nor would they give the adult elves reason to fear for it.

 

The female said something to Calenon, who responded so silent the dwarves could not hear, before turning to leave. Legolas, apparently forgetting something, wriggled out of her arms and ran back to Asger, stopping inches from him.

 

"Thank you for speaking with me," he said in his careful Westron. Asger grunted something simple in reply. Content with the response, the little Prince hugged Asger around the waist, before running back to the two waiting elves. Around him, the other elves and guards appeared bemused (or as bemused as elves could look, and dwarvish bemusement tented to come across as more peevish) as they watched the small party leave. Asger assumed to take the elfling back to his terrifying sire. They watched as the three disappeared into the trees, before starting on their way again. Asger's kin surrounded him immediately, demanded in Khuzdul what had happened. Asger answered all their questions, before becoming silent once more.

 

It was strange, but some part of him missed the little scamp already.

 

**_###_ **

 

Thranduil's lips twitched ever so slightly as he watched his son and guard slip into the comfortable room. He had decided not to sup in the great hall, and instead had Galion bring him his meal in one of the smaller chambers. Colourful tapestries covered the walls, all of which were older than him by several millennia. They depicted his family's history in Doriath and beyond, and he had loved looking at them as a child. Legolas was just as interested now, and particularly loved hearing about his grandfather. He still remembered his Grandfather and his Grandmother, Thranduil knew, though those memories were beginning to fade. Just as his memories of his mother were likewise beginning to fade away as he grew. He had simply been too young when they had either passed into Mandos' Hall or sailed for Valinor.

 

"Ada!" Legolas shrieked, launching himself from Arbelleson's arms and into Thranduil's lap. His little son looked extraordinarily pleased with himself, and snuggled immediately into his father's arms. Arbelleson, in contrast, looked slightly mussed, with his dark hair falling out of his usually neat plaits and an amused if slightly tired expression on his youthful face.

 

"You have thanked Arbelleson for indulging you today?"

 

Legolas nodded, and his guard smiled. "He did, sire," the elf confirmed.

 

"And Thanlionwen?"

 

Legolas nodded again. "She said it's your turn now?" he reported with a slightly confused look on his face. Arbelleson snorted from his position by the door.

 

"Go, Arbelleson," Thranduil ordered. "He will be with me for the rest of the evening."

 

"Yes Your Majesty," he bowed, before smiling at his little charge. Legolas, not one to miss giving out affection to those he loved, raced back over to him for one last hug which the young guard eagerly returned before slipping from the room to wherever he went when not needed. Thranduil hoped he was off in search of food and wine after the day he'd had. Dealing with a dwarf and curious elfling would strike fear into the heart of even the most fierce warrior.

 

Legolas ran back over to him, climbing onto his lap. Thranduil took a sip of his wine, knowing that Legolas would soon have questions for him about his day. He had no doubt that Arbelleson and Thanlionwen had answered most of his queries already, but Legolas always checked with him . He had wanted to do the same with his father as a child, but Oropher had been so cold for much of his life, especially after Doriath's fall, and Thranduil had never managed to work up the courage. It had only been after Legolas' birth that he and his father had begun to repair their loving though stilted relationship, only for Oropher to be killed at Dagorlad.

 

Thranduil knew he would see his father again when he eventually sailed, but also knew that that would be many centuries away. He had no desire to leave Middle Earth yet, and neither did the vast majority of his people. Legolas, likewise, would remain in Middle Earth for the next several thousand years, and Thranduil's blood ran cold at the thought of leaving his son for any reason at all. The rest of his family could wait. He had everything he needed right here.

 

"Ada?"

 

"Yes little one?"

 

"Why do elves and dwarves not like each other?"

 

Ah. That had not been what he'd expected. From the information he'd received from the trees he had assumed Legolas would be stuck on dwarves (and indeed mortals in general) not hearing the song of the trees or the stars. He had not expected Legolas to pick up on the animosity between the two races.

 

"What makes you think they do not get along?" he asked instead of explaining. He himself had no love for dwarves (the memories of Doriath and his mother's injuries still haunted him to this day) but to the best of his knowledge had not spoken the his son about his feelings. After all, he had much more important things to teach his child about than dwarves.

 

Legolas frowned, lips pursed in thought, before he shrugged. "I don't know," he said slowly. "But the trees were all suspicious of the dwarf, and Arbelleson seemed nervous the whole time we were with him. And then Thanlionwen came, and she…" he trailed off, struggling to put his observations into words. Legolas had a keen insight into those around him, but as he was still so young and often struggled to put his observations into words. Thranduil waited patiently, knowing his son would continue when he was ready. "She didn't seem angry at the dwarf, but it was like she didn't feel anything at all. And I know she not like that." He finally said, looking up at his father.

 

No, Thranduil mused, his old friend was certainly not one to hide behind a cold mask. Much to the elves she trained consternation. Thranduil could not ask for a better taskmaster for his army, though was sure they all felt differently.

 

"And," Legolas continued, unaware of his father's thoughts, "the rest of the guards all seemed as though they were ready to fight. Or that they thought there was going to be a fight or something, when we took Asger," Thranduil assumed this to be the dwarf the trees had mislead - he'd not bothered to learn his name, "back to the rest of the dwarves."

 

Thranduil sat back in the chair, observing his son's confused expression. "You are very observant penneth," he said softly. Perhaps to observant. He sighed.

 

"The dwarves you met today were not bad," he started to explain. "They are simple folk who were seeking to see their kin on the other side of Greenwood. But there were dwarves, long ago, who were not simple folk. They were greedy and unkind, and caused the death of many elves during the fall of Doriath."

 

Legolas' green eyes widened, before darting up to look at the tapestries on the wall, his mouth forming an "o".

 

"Even now," he continued, not wanting to frighten his son but likewise not wanting to lie to him, "dwarves value precious metals and gemstones more than anything else, and care not for any other races in middle earth. They are content digging deep in the earth to satisfy their greed."

 

Legolas bit his lip. "Asger seemed nice though," he pointed out, one eyebrow arching as he ducked his chin.

 

"One of their only redeeming qualities," Thranduil gave in, though he hated to give dwarves any credit whatsoever, "is that they universally adore children."

 

"So… Asger was only kind to me because I'm small?"

 

Thranduil stroked a large hand over his sons golden head. "Mostly," he said finally. "The dwarves who passed through Greenwood are not lords or kings, and the more simple dwarves seem to be less greedy and cruel than the lords do. But even they do not like elves, or indeep humans, as a rule. They are not polite to any race save their own, though thankfully are not violent, just loud, brash, and rude."

 

Legolas' head tilted to the side as he considered his father's words. "Well, he was kind to me," he finally said with a defiant edge to his tone. "Hopefully he'll like big elves a little more now."

 

Thranduil doubted it, but did not want to dissuade his son of his notions. He was still young, and would learn in time that dwarves were not a race to be trusted, regardless then one was not outright cruel to him as a child. Dwarves would not be passing through Greenwood again for centuries in all likelihood. By that time Legolas would be old enough to learn more about their race, and could form his own opinions on the worthiness or unworthiness of the dwarrow.

 

He took another sip of wine, and allowed Legolas to have a small sip as well when he looked at the goblet with beseeching eyes.

 

Legolas gave the goblet back to him, nose wrinkling at the taste. It was a dark red, and Thranduil was sure his son had gotten a shock at the flavour. Good - it would keep him from wanting to try again for years to come.

 

He drained the last of it, putting the cup down on the ornate side table beside his comfortable chair. Legolas had curled up in his arms, staring into the fire with tired eyes. His soft tunic had slipped off one shoulder, and he'd taken off his belt at some point, leaving the embroidered fabric hanging loosely off him. It was the middle of summer, and Thranduil hadn't felt the need to put Legolas in leggings. Indeed, many elflings (all born shortly into the Third Age, after he had become King and Sauron had been temporarily defeated) were dressed in simple clothing in the summer, and infants wore naught but their clouts in the heat. Elves were more adept at dealing with weather than mortals were, but elfings less so than adults, and tended to become irritable in the high heat and humidity of Greenwoods summer months. It was not uncommon to see clusters of unclothed elflings playing in streams or ponds under their parents watchful and indulgent eyes. Legolas had played all day in the streams yesterday, enjoying being the eldest of the children. The smaller elflings adored him, and once again Thranduil felt a stab of pain at the thought of being unable to provide Legolas with a younger sibling of his own.

 

He would have been a wonderful elder brother.

 

In his arms, Legolas made a soft sound as he succumbed to sleep.

 

"Time for bed my love," Thranduil murmured, rising from his chair without waking his son with the ease of practice. Legolas nuzzled into his neck.

 

He walked leisurely to the Royal Suite, nodding in returns to the quiet greetings his people called softly as he passed through the winding halls of the palace. Most of them grinned at the sight of their Prince sound asleep in his father's arms, having heard the rumours (thoughtfully spread by the birds) of his activities that day. No elf in Greenwood liked dwarves. For the Sindarin the memories of Doriath were too fresh, despite having happened in the First Age, and the Silvan had no little love for strangers, especially strangers that did not care for the woods. None of his people, however, were surprised that their prince would try and make friends with a dwarf. He'd already made friends with Noldo, several wolves, cried over a small rat that had died in the cellars, and tried to befriend many other creatures. The dwarf was hardly a surprise, nor was it a surprise that they trees and woodland creatures had aided and abetted him.

 

"Did the little scamp tire himself out today?"

 

Thranduil nodded to one of the two guards outside the entrance to the Royal Suite, allowing his amusement at his child's antics to show. Faelwen grinned unabashedly as her companion opened the door for the King and Prince.

 

"At least he didn't try to keep the Naugrim as a pet," murmured Rimdur, a quiet Silvan with an intense air about him. Faelwen made an odd noise, one that someone might make when attempting to hold back a snort. Thranaduil ignored them both, entering the large and airy chambers without looking back. The Royal Guards were all incredibly loyal to both him and Legolas, and he would never want them to stand on ceremony. He felt that his guards would have more cause for loyalty if they were able to interact with those they were guarding, rather then having to stay as silent sentinels. Even if he had felt that way, Legolas would not have allowed it. Even the most serious guards (Rimdur among them) were hard pressed not to smile at the little light that was his only child.

 

He bypassed the sitting room and entered the bathing chamber, gently washing mud from his sons bare feet and lower legs, before slipping the dirty tunic off of him and grabbing the sleepshirt a helpful servant had laid out for the prince. Legolas stirred when he was manoeuvred into it, eyes focusing on his father.

 

"Hello little one," Thranduil said gently.

 

Legolas smiled sleepily, moving his head to the side to allow his father access to his hair when he saw the King pick up a comb. Thranduil brushed his sons silky hair gently, picking out several twigs as he undid the braids keeping his hair from his face. He left the cornsilk hair loose when he was finished, noting with a tight feeling in his chest that it was getting long. Legolas no longer had the look of a small child. He'd lost much of his baby fat, body and face slimming into that of a child rather than toddler. His hair had remained a pale blond, though was more golden than white now, the baby hair completely grown out. His hair lay straight and smooth down his back, stopping just below his ribs.

 

Soon Thranduil would have to start him on formal lessons, rather than the informal ones he'd had with him and other councillors. Soon he would need to learn how to be a proper little prince. He would need to have lessons on history, on other races, on old treaties, and more.

 

Soon he would need to begin rudimentary weapons training, as was appropriate for the child of the King.

 

"Ada?"

 

Thranduil smiled down at his growing son, noting the similarities in their features anew. "Would you like to sleep with me in my bed, or in your own penneth?" he asked gently, picking Legolas up in his strong arms. It was early yet, and he still had paperwork to go over before going to bed himself, so had not bothered changing into his own nightshirt. He eyes that stack of vellum perched on the side of the simple desk in his personal study, and thought idly that he may not be sleeping at all this night.

 

"With you Ada," Legolas replied after a moment's consideration.

 

Thranduil did not reply, but instead walked into his large bedchamber, and settled Legolas on the soft bed. Servants had readied the room for sleep, turning down the sheets invitingly and ensuring that the large balcony doors were open, allowing moonlight and starlight into the room. The gauzy white hangings on the bed were likewise pulled back, allowing its occupant to peer out at the stars with nothing in their way. Legolas immediately curled up in what had become his spot from basically the moment of his birth - a sport near the centre, on his own small pillow. When Falathiel had been alive she and Thrnaduil had cradled their son between them in the massive bed, and many nights had reused the call of sleep, instead remaining awake and watching the then infant wander through elven dreams.

 

Though his mother was long gone now, Legolas' spot had not changed. Thranduil could have moved him perhaps, to allow himself more room, but could not bear to. Therefore Legolas remained in the centre of the bed, were Thranduil could easily curl himself around the small form and guard him in his dreams.

 

Perhaps one day he would push for Legolas to sleep in his own chambers rather than with his old father. But not yet.

 

Legolas had already slipped into sleep, emerald eyes staring vacantly at nothing. Thranduil let out a soft snort, grinning down at the sleeping form of his beloved son.

 

Keep a dwarf as a pet indeed!

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright... so I have an idea for the chapter immediately after this (it's half written, so should be published soonish) but after that..? I only have ideas and stuff written for much later on. Please let me know if you have anything you would like to see, any ideas, any prompts, anything at all! I love getting ideas from other people, and in this case find myself needing them!


	6. Of Gossip and Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas had heard that his Ada could be scary. He’d heard guards talking and maids gossiping. But he’d never seen Ada lose his temper, not ever. Until today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by a prompt from TheFallingRoses - if you have an idea please let me know! 
> 
> Legolas is the equivalent of a 6 year old human child. Ish. 
> 
> Also, I’d like to mention that I’m not following movie canon for appearances for the most part. Feel free to do so if you like though! Because of this I will be referencing how I see the characters, which does not necessarily line up to what was produced on film. That is not to say that I disagree with the actors (because I don’t!) but this was how I pictured the characters when I first read the books. :)

 

_ I’m glad he’s our King and not our enemy.   _

 

_ He can be so intimidating when he wants to be.  _

 

_ Did you hear?  He is furious with Arthion.  Not that Arthion doesn’t deserve it, all things considered, but…  _

 

Legolas rolled his eyes, walking past the group of gossiping elves on silent feet, and sticking to the shadows so that they did not see him.  He was confined to the palace after the incident with the green dye and the pool, and Arbelleson was off visiting his mother and younger sister for a month.  He could have joined Ada for the day, but he did not want to be stuck listening to councillors all morning. He knew he would be able to convince Ada to take him outside later, but in the meantime was awfully bored.  

 

And now he’d heard elves gossiping!  Galion would not be pleased. He despised gossip in all forms, and Legolas had heard that he was wont to get very cross with elves who indulged when they should be working.  He hoped those elves would not get caught. Galion had a very good glare when he chose to use it. It had not been directed at him as of yet, but he had seen Galion look at Ada in a very disapproving manner several times.  Ada said he usually deserved it.  

 

Because after all, Galion was always right.  

 

Ada also said that Legolas was too cute and Galion loved him far too much to glare at him, but Legolas knew if he were to ever do something really bad Galion would use his glare.  He did not know what something really bad would be, and hoped he would never find out.  

 

He reminded himself to ask Galion or Ada what intimidating meant.  From the way the elves had been speaking it was not a good thing, and he didn’t think they should be using it to describe their King.  Ada did everything he could to make sure his people were happy. They shouldn't insult him.  

 

Deciding to go to Ada with this issue now instead of waiting, Legolas abruptly changed direction, darting down a hallway covered with creeping ivy to get to his father’s office faster.  

  
  


_**###** _

  
  


Thranduil stared at the penitent elf in front of him with clenched teeth, throwing his cheekbones and strong jawline into sharp relief.  It helped that the elf had realised he had made a grievous error in judgement, and that no one had been injured miraculously.  

 

But it could have been much, much worse.  

 

Greenwood could not bear to suffer any further losses, not when its people had only now started fully healing from Dagorlad.  

 

“Get out of my sight!” He finally hissed, breathing hard.  “And do not dare to show your face until you are told you may do so.”  

 

Arthion, the poor elf who was the subject of the Elvenking’s righteous fury, stumbled to his feet, face a sickly grey.  He had known Oropher, and seen him in a rage before, though it had not been directed at him. The fallen King had been incandescent in his fury, letting all those around him know his ire.  Thranduil was far worse. He was less prone to rages than his father had been (Oropher had frequently been a mood of some sort), but once raised his fury was indeed terrible to behold. He was also far more dangerous, reminding Arthion of a storm.  You could never tell exactly where or when lightning would strike after all.  

 

He stood, bowing as quickly as he dared, and darted from the room, ignoring the expressions on the guards faces as he nearly ran from the hall.  

 

Back in his office Thranduil threw himself into a chair, still breathing hard, before surging to his feet immediately.  He was too angry to be still, he could feel the rage coursing through his veins.  

 

There were some sounds outside the door, some elf apparently wanting to gain entrance, but Thranduil purposefully ignored it.  His guards new better than to allow anyone entry for the moment. Even Galion made himself scarce when he was in a temper. The only ones brave enough to see him when he was in a mood had been his parents and wife.  

 

Now there was no one.  

 

Suddenly even more angry than before, what with the reminder of what he had lost, Thranduil flung a glass against the wall.  It shattered satisfyingly on impact, and Thranduil watched the wine trail down the wall with narrowed blue eyes, not truly seeing it.  

 

“Ada?”  

 

Thranduil felt his heart drop suddenly, and swirled around to look at the doorway. Legolas was standing just inside it, ignoring the guard that was desperately grasping at his shoulder, and was staring at him with wide and slightly fearful eyes.  

 

Unable to respond Thranduil jerked his chin at the guards, who exchanged a quick glance before retreating and shutting the door once more. 

 

He closed his eyes against the look in his child’s verdant eyes, jaw now clenched for a different reason.  

 

“Are… are you alright Ada?”  

 

Thranduil let out a long breath, the tension abruptly leaving his body, before daring to open his eyes and looking at his son.  Legolas, for the first time in his young life, look unsure in front of his father. He was dressed casually, as he had had his lessons in the morning, and for once still had his soft house shoes on his little feet.  His hair had been loose when Thranduil had last seen him at breakfast, but was now half of it was gather neatly in a plait at the back of his head, the rest falling in a mix of white blond waves and curls down past his shoulders.  Thranduil’s heart clenched. Legolas’ mother had had curly hair, and his grandfather gentle waves. Thranduil himself took after his mother, and his own hair had no hint of a wave. Unlike his son’s, which went everywhere now that his baby hair had completely grown out. 

 

He dropped back into the chair, holding out his arms to his son.  Legolas gave him another concerned look, but scampered over to him, jumping into his lap with ease.  He sat back on his father’s long legs, studying Thranduil’s face with a great deal of intensity. If it were not for the colour, Thranduil would have sworn his own father was looking at him, so strong was his son’s gaze.  

 

“I am fine, Legolas,” he finally answered.  It was not technically a lie. Now that Legolas was here he was fine, it not exhausted and slightly angry at himself.  Legolas had never truly seen him in a rage. He had seen him annoyed, seen him disappointed, and seen him frustrated. He had seen him when the grief hit too hard and he struggled to leave his bed, seen him when it was all he could do not to clench his son to him and mourn what they had both lost. 

 

But he had never seen him angry.  

 

Legolas himself was angry only very rarely, and then it was barely a strong enough emotion to be called anger at all.  He had more of his mother’s temperament in him. Oh, his moods could be mercurial as all Silvan Elves could be, and though he was only half Silvan he took after them in emotion.  But angry was not a state his son seemed to feel. Thranduil suspected that could change as he grew, but he could not imagine his sweet son being prone to rages as he could be, and his father often had been.  

 

“No, you’re not,” Legolas protested, a frown on his beautiful face.  

 

“I am better,” Thrnaduil corrected, “now that you are here.”  

 

Legolas grinned, a quick gap toothed smile, before frowning again, leaning forward to place a palm on his father’s sculpted cheek.  

 

Thranduil fought the urge to weep.  He had never wanted his son to be exposed to his anger.  Oh, he was sure that he and Legolas would clash more and more as his son grew, knew that they would inevitably have their arguments, but Thranduil had hoped (a fool's hope perhaps) that his sweet son would not see the full force of his anger.  

 

He sighed.  

 

“I am sorry you saw that tithen pen,” he said seriously, finally meeting Legolas’ wide green eyes.  He brushed a stray hair out off of his pale face, smiling ever so slightly when the stray curl bounced right back.  

 

“But Ada,” Legolas pressed, confused and annoyed at his lack of understanding.  “What…” He trailed off, clearly not knowing what to ask.  

 

“I was angry due to a situation that should not have happened,” he said.  Legolas narrowed his eyes, giving his father his full attention instead of trying to hear the trees just outside for once.  “Elves could have been seriously injured, or lost their lives, due to negligence.”  

 

Legolas bit the inside of his cheek.  “Negligence?” He asked. He had started formal lessons now, but there was still some words that confused him.  

 

“Negligence is when someone, or a group of people, does not take proper care of something or someone.” Thranduil explained.  “Because of several elves negligence, people could have been hurt, and that made me angry and scared.”

 

Legolas nodded thoughtfully, before something occurred to him.  “What does intimidating mean?” 

 

Thranduil let out a small breath, unsure as to the change of subject, but answered the question regardless.  “It is when something or someone has a frightening, aweing, or threatening look or feel to it,” he said simply. 

 

Legolas made an odd face, as though attempting to connect something in his mind, but could not quite do so.  

 

“Why penneth?”  He knew Legolas would have more questions about his temper soon, and wanted to be able to better gather his thoughts before then.  Best to keep his inquisitive son distracted for as long as possible.  

 

“When I was walking around a little bit ago some elves were gossiping!”  he declared as though informing Thranduil of some great secret. Thranduil reacted with the appropriate level of surprise.  

 

“Were they?” he asked in seemingly stunned horror.  Apparently Galion had succeeded in his wish to ensure Legolas would never have the desire to gossip.  

 

Legolas nodded with an air of gravitas that belied his young age.  “They were,” he confirmed somberly. “They were talking about you Ada!  They said that they were glad that you are not their enemy, and… and that you can be intimidating.”  He said the last word very slowly and carefully, cleary unsure of the feel of it in his mouth.  

 

Despite himself, Thranduil began to chuckle.  “According to many I am intimidating,” he said to Legolas, whispering as though he were confiding a great secret.  Thranuil did not mind what the gossip about him said. He was intimidating to many, and his enemies had often been terrified of him.  He was, in many ways, proud of his reputation in Greenwood and beyond. His people knew his reputation and loved him despite it, knowing that he was their protector and a King that was not to be crossed.  His father had been similar, though far more likely than he to lash out at his subjects.  

 

Legolas looked at him as though he had professed his love for orcs, or for brussel sprouts, which Legolas was not at all fond of.  “But, Ada!” he protested, face screwed up in hopeless confusion. “You are not scary! Not at all!”  

 

“Am I not?” Thranduil asked playfully, putting a purposefully ridiculous expression on his face.  Legolas rolled his eyes, giggling.  

 

“No,” he laughed.  “You are Ada. Ada’s cannot be intimidating.”  

 

Thranduil leaned back in his comfortable chair, drawing Legolas closer.  “I can get quite angry when the situation arises Legolas,” he said honestly.  “When our people are in danger like today for example.” He paused, studying Legolas’ face.  “If someone tried to hurt you I would be furious,” he continued, allowing his happy expression to slip away, showing his seriousness.  “If I thought a single hair on your precious head was going to be harmed I doubt even you would recognize me.”  

 

He was not lying.  He had expressed such a fear to his wife years before.  He loved Legolas with an intensity that he still found to be terrifying at times, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would tear apart anyone who sought to harm him.  He had loved his wife (and still did), but his love for Legolas was on a different level. His son was his everything, and he would do anything to keep him safe.

 

Legolas laughed suddenly, falling against his chest to hug him.  “You’re silly Ada,” he scolded. “I would always recognize you.”

 

Thranduil hugged him back, kissing the top of his head.  “And I you,” he said gently. He turned his head slightly, grimacing at the shattered glass.  He truly did not regret his showing of temper. Arthion had deserved it. He had come to accept his temper years ago, when he had been but a child himself, and had learnt to control it for the most part.  He still felt that if he had cause to be angry, there was no need to hold himself back. This had led to several confrontations between himself and his father, and on one occasion when he had been younger than Legolas now, between him and his Great-Great Uncle Elu Thingol _ (1) _ .  His father had never let him hear the end of that, and in retrospect he had been lucky that the High King had loved him and ignored his anger.  

 

“I’m sure you would,” he said in response to his son.  “And Legolas, I do not mind if I am gossiped about. Many do find me intimidating, as I already told you, which is fine.  I would mind if they found me unkind, or if they were too scared to come to me if something were wrong. But if they think me to be a little but scary?” he smiled, tweaking his son on his pert nose, “that is fine with me.  Do not hold it against them.”  

 

Legolas smiled up at him, putting his dimples on display.  “Alright Ada,” he said.  

 

“Now tell me penneth,” Thranduil smiled.  “How were your lessons?”  

 

Legolas’ smile grew to a massive grin as he bounced in Thranduil’s lap.  “I did really good today Ada!” he informed his father.  

 

“Really well,” Thranduil corrected, smiling to show he did not mind the slip.  

 

“Really well,” Legolas obligingly corrected.  “Rainion said that my I’m doing an amazing job with reading, and that my writing is neater than yours was at my age!”  

 

Thranduil laughed.  He had not tried hard in his own studies when he was Legolas’ age, to put it lightly.  “I’m sure you are little leaf! And what else did you learn today?”  

 

Legolas launched into a retelling of his morning, face animated and gestures wild.  Thranduil watched him with joy in his heart, forgetting for the most part about his earlier rage.  He was content watching his son, seeing the changes in his expression and the quirk of his smile. He would have to deal with court later, would have to ensure the situation was well under control, and attend to his duties.  

 

But for now he would sit and watch his son.  There was no where he would rather be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I got bored and made a family tree for how Celebron and Oropher are related, and it snowballed. If you’re interested let me know, and I can link it! 
> 
> Super short chapter (8 pages rather then my normal 30ish) but I felt like short and sweet suited this storyline better then drawing it out. And thank you SO MUCH to the people who gave me ideas in the comments! I have 6 more chapters planned now (though nothing but notes written), and several other ideas floating around, especially once I jump forward in time a bit more. But PLEASE give me more! I’m taking all the ideas I like and putting them in a doc so that I can reference it. :) 
> 
> Even if you don’t have a prompt, please let me know what you thought!


	7. Glimpses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Towards the end of the Second Age Thranduil's wife convinces him to have a child. It is the best decision he ever made. Ft. Thranduil, Oropher, and a certain newborn elf we all know and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering why I have Legolas born in the Second Age and not sometime in the third, please refer to a reply I left on a comment in chapter five! I'm also (of course) open to answering questions.

**_Second Age 3399_ **

 

Thranduil swirled his wine around in his goblet, staring out of the balcony at the stars above the dark forest. Logic dictated his answer, all of his reasoning dictated his answer, but yet…

 

"We should not," he said, trying to convince himself more than his wife. They could not, not with the state of Middle Earth. The world had been changed after the drowning of Númenor, after Sauron had infected the world of men anew. And now that same evil was growing in Middle Earth. Open war was inevitable, and Thranduil knew he would fight. His father did not want to, did not want to risk his people due to the folly of the Noldo, but Thranduil knew they could not ignore this. Once Sauron had smited the Noldor and humans he would come for the Sindar and Silvan folk. Their best chance was to stand together when the call to fight came.

 

"And why not?" his wife asked, head tilted to the side as she regarded him with wise eyes. She had been out on patrol the night before, and was still dressed in her greens, wild black hair braided tightly against her head so it did not interfere with her weapons. She looked beautiful.

 

He set his wine down. "You know why, beloved," he sighed. "We cannot bring a child into a world so dark."

 

She stood, walking to stand beside him on the balcony. She was nearly a full head shorter than he, and considerably slighter as Silvan elves were wont to be, but the force of her personally took up entire rooms. She took one of his pale hands in hers, her own lightly tanned, and smiled up at him, green eyes soft. 

 

"And that is exactly why we should have a child Thranduil," she whispered. She lifted his hand, kissing his palm with full bow lips. "A child will bring joy to us all, and remind us why we fight. We cannot allow evil to dictate our happiness."

 

He pulled his close, relishing in the feel of her body against his. Too often now they were separated. He was the Crown Prince, and thus had many duties in the palace and beyond. He'd spent much of the last month in council. She was one of Commander Thanlionwen's captains, and thus spent much of her time patrolling and overseeing troops. They were lucky to get even an hour with one another.

 

He dropped a kiss to the top of her head, then lay his cheek on her hair. "I doubt we can afford to lose your abilities on the battlefield love," he said.

 

She leaned back, giving him a wry look. "We can for a time," she protested. "I can still advise while with child, or with an infant, and you can certainly help once he is born."

 

"You are so sure it would be male?"

 

She shrugged. "Yes, though I would not care either way."

 

Thranduil pulled her tight once more. "Nor would I," he whispered. He was terrified to have a child, but also desperately wanted one. He was terrified of bringing a child into this world, terrified of becoming like his father, who loved him Thranduil knew, but was cold and distant. He did not want that for his child. He did not want his child to be born into a world at war.

 

But yet…

 

He could easily die in the wars to come, as could his beloved Falathiel. Sauron was a mighty foe, and would only continue to grow in strength. If they did not have a child now, they might never get the chance. If either he or his wife fell they would love no other, instead waiting too reunite in Valinor. He did not want to wait that long.

 

He nodded, eyes closing.

 

"Alright."

 

**_###_ **

 

**_S.A. 3399, a month later._ **

 

Thranduil exchanged a look with his glowing wife, lips quirked in a small smile. Middle Earth had not exactly been peaceful lately, but the Enemy was busy elsewhere, and the elves were living peacefully for the time being. They had a reprieve, and elves were not one to let that go to waste. The royal family was currently eating alone, food spread on a low table in the royal chambers. The massive balconies and windows were all opened wide, allowing the light from the setting sun the stream into the room and onto the small family seated on cushions around the low table.

 

Oropher, King of Greenwood the Great, sat beside his wife and Queen Huoriel. The elleth wore her long mahogany hair loose, allowing the waves to shift in the wind, and was smiling at her son. She, Thranduil suspected, knew what they wanted to speak to her and Oropher about. His mother had always been able to see right through him, and her husband as well. If it weren't for her influence he was sure he and his father would have stopped speaking centuries ago.

 

Oropher was speaking to his daughter in law about an archery contest they'd had some centuries back. Both insisted they had won, and neither was willing to concede to the other. Thranduil tuned them out. His weapon was the sword, and though he was a fine archer, he had heard this argument too many times to listen to it again.

 

He choked back a laugh as Falathiel leaned back from her father in law, expression and posture screaming offended disbelief. She got along well with both of his parents, and had no fear of either of them. She had been born in these forests long before Oropher and his Sindar had arrived after the beginning of the Second Age. She respected the King and his rule, but was not one to allow herself to be pushed around by anyone. Even if that someone was her King.

 

His mother leaned closer to whisper in his ear. "You have something to tell us, do you not ion-nin?"

 

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at her, a look she copied with considerably more gravitas. He looked a great deal like his father, but most of his mannerisms he had learnt from his mother, as she had been the one around more frequently in his formative years. "Can I not just want to eat with my parents?" he drawled, picking up a slice of apple.

 

She smacked him on the shoulder. "Don't be cheeky," she scolded. He rolled his eyes. He was thousands of years old, yet was still treated as though he were an elfling by his mother.

 

"I would never be cheeky to you Naneth," he responded sarcastically, and not at all truthfully.

 

His father, from the other side of the table, stopped his argument to look at his son and wife. "That," he said imperiously, "I do not believe for a second. Now, your Naneth was asking you something?"

 

Thranduil swallowed, suddenly feeling unaccountably nervous. All his childhood he had tried desperately to avoid his father's disapproval, before almost seeking it out as a youth. It was only once he had fully matured that he and his father had seemed to have any understanding whatsoever. He knew his father loved him, but Oropher was a difficult elf to live with under the best of circumstances, and Thranduil had inherited far too much of his temperament for them to ever truly get along.

 

His beloved, always able to read him so well, smiled slightly from across the table before clearing her throat to draw the King and Queen's attention away from their son.

 

"We are expecting a child come spring," she said simply, not one to embellish or draw anything out when simple words would do. It was one of the reasons she was such a good captain, and also why she was so terrible in formal court.

 

Huoriel seemed to have stopped breathing, before a wide grin grew on her face. She finally began to laugh, grabbing Thranduil and pulling him down to kiss his forehead. Thranduil hugged her, thankful that she at least was happy for them. She grabbed his face gently, resting their foreheads together as she had done when he had been a small elfling desperate for his father's approval, nothing but love and kindness in her warm amber eyes.

 

Oropher, on the other side of the table, was silent. Falathiel did not seem affected by this, and simply watched him with, noting the minute changes of expression on his hard face.

 

"You are the one who has been telling me open war will be upon us, ion-nin," he finally said in a low voice, the one he used in council. His face was utterly inscrutable as he stared at his only child.

 

"It will be," Thranduil confirmed. "Within the century, I am sure. Though likely less."

 

His father snorted. "And you believe this is a good time to bring a child into the world?"

 

It was Falathiel who answered. "We do." Her voice gave no room for arguments.

 

The King, of course, was not one to listen. "It is irresponsible in the extreme to have a child now!" he hissed, icy blue eyes narrowed as he swung back to look at his son, silvery hair nearly bristling with indignation.

 

Falathiel held strong. She knew her husbands issues with his father, and had vowed to be his defender. She would not fail in her self appointed duty just because she was with child. Their child may be born into an unsure world, but he would not be born into a family with strife. "When else?" she asked simply. "We could both be killed in the war for all we know. We cannot allow evil like Sauron and his ilk determine what we do with our lives."

 

Oropher continued to stare at Thranduil, making a displeased sound low in his throat. Thranduil held his ground. He had allowed himself to be pushed around by his domineering father in many aspects of his life. He would not allow that here, not when it concerned his wife and child. He was long an adult, and an imposing figure in his own right if one listened to the gossip of elves outside Greenwood.

 

He did not get a chance to speak, as his mother spoke up in a firm voice. She did not go against her husband often, but when she did everyone listened. She had not been Queen of Greenwood for millennia doing nothing. She may not be a warrior, but she was a healer and Queen, the daughter of one of the greatest elves to ever live. Her words were respected.

 

"Meleth," she said in a low voice. "They have made their decision. I for one support them, and will look to our coming grandchild with nothing but joy. You are free to feel as you wish, as you always are, but know that you will be alone. There may be some Sindar who are concerned about the timing, but they will not say a word against it. And we all know the Silven elves will be celebrating for months to come."

 

She was correct, of course. The Silvan elves in particular would greet the coming arrival with untold joy. They loved their prince beyond measure, and loved his wife who was one of them. The child would be the most beloved elfling in all of Arda.

 

Oropher visibly controlled himself, unwilling to argue with the wife who had been by his side since before the First Age.

 

Thranduil met his father's eyes fearlessly, blue matching blue. He was nervous, admittedly, about bringing his child into such a precarious world. But he did not doubt his decision to do so. Ever since their child had been conceived Thranduil had felt a sense of peace with it, a sense of rightness, as had Falathiel. They knew the Valar themselves supported this child, wanted him or her to be born. Nothing could change that - not even his father's disapproval. He smiled, an expression that should be kind but in this case had an edge to it. He would not back down. Not about this.

 

"You are free to think as you wish of course, Adar, but your grandchild is going to be born in the spring. Nothing you say will change that. Your disapproval, in this case, matters not."

 

Oropher's proud and stern face looked as though it were carved of stone, but even he would not dare to stand again his wife and son under these circumstances. He was rash and quick to anger, but never foolish. He stood, tall and regal, looking down at the three elves sitting on ornate cushions down his straight and noble nose, before leaving the room in a swirl of damask robes.

 

Huorial watched her husband leave with narrowed eyes. Thranduil recognized the expression on his mother's ageless face. She and her husband would be having words tonight. He just hoped she would be able to reason with him. Despite his at times strained relationship with his father, he wanted the elder elf to be as excited about the coming elfling as he was.

 

She sighed, grasping his hand. "He is frightened," she explained. "He may be utterly moronic at times, and unable to show his affection, but he loves you and will love your child."

 

Falathiel took a piece of fruit, expression calm. She had weathered worse than her father in laws disapproval. She would bear it easily, though grieved for her husband, for she knew it brought him grief.

 

Huorial kissed her son's forehead, then her daughter in laws. "I for one am ecstatic about this news," she said honestly with a gentle smile on her face. She stood, silky grey dress falling about her slender and tall form. She shook her hair back from her face and left the room on silent feet, closing the door behind her.

 

Thranduil watched her leave. "I have not seen her that determined in quite some time," he murmured, almost feeling sorry for his father. His wife moved to sit beside him, her body a warm line against his. She took his hand, placing it against her still flat stomach. He smiled, all worries about his father forgotten as he sensed his child's fëa.

 

**_###_ **

 

**_S.A. 3400, early morning in the beginning of Spring_ **

 

Tears blurred his vision as he stared down at the bundle in his arms. He knew he should be speaking to his wife, ensuring that she was comfortable and healthy, but he could not even think to look away from his baby.

 

His little one.

 

It was the first day of spring, and leaves were starting to sprout on the trees outside in the forest. He closed his eyes, relishing in the feel of the breeze. In his arms the baby stirred, opening wide green eyes, eyes same colour as his wife's.

 

"Do you think he knows me?" he asked, not even considering tearing his eyes away from the perfect form in his arms.

 

Falathiel, who had been sat up against plush cushions by the healers help, grinned tiredly and indulgently at him. She did not begrudge him the time to bond with their new son. She had had him to herself for a year. Thranduil deserved the time to get to know him. "I am sure he does," she finally replied. "Look at him watch you!"

 

Thranduil's smile, which had not left his face since his mother (as the head healer, she had helped with the birth of her grandchild) had placed the wailing infant, covered in blood and Valar knew what else, on his wife's chest. Thranduil knew then that he would do anything for his child, and spend his whole life making sure he was happy. Tears of joy finally fell, though Thranduil took care to ensure none landed on the baby. He stood, carefully, and sat gently beside his wife on the bed. She leaned against him immediately, one hand going to their newborn son. He wiggled, one small fist flailing in the air.

 

"What should we call him?" she murmured, staring down at the baby's perfect face.

 

Thranduil considered the small form in his arms. This child was his own heir, a descendant of Elmo, brother of Elu Thingol through his paternal grandfather Oropher. On his grandmother Huorial's side he was a descendant of Ingwë, High King of the Vanyar in Valinor, who was by some reckoned as High King of all the elves, the most noble of them all.

 

The infant's lineage was great and noble on his Thranduil's side, and of ancient on his Falathiel's. The Silvan elves had had no rulers before the House of Oropher, but Falathiel had lived under the trees of Greenwood for millennia, as had her kin. The Noldo may call them less wise and more wild, but Thranduil knew better. His wife and her people had a wisdom he himself did not understand. He could only hope that his son would inherit her power. Through lineage alone he would be an elf of great importance, though Thranduil hoped he would never have to be King, or indeed ever Crown Prince.

 

"In Quenyan he will be Laiqalassë," he finally said, knowing the formality of the old tongue would please the most stern of the Sindar in Greenwood. "But I think Legolas suits him well, do you not agree?"

 

She stared down at the child. "Our little Greenleaf," she murmured, before looking up at her husband. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her teary eyes and her normally voluminous hair lank and greasy. She had never looked more beautiful to him.

 

"It is perfect, meleth," she smiled. "He will be our Greenleaf even when times are dark."

 

Their son, their Legolas, made a soft noise in his father's arms, turning his small face towards the strong chest and making a sound of displeasure when there was no milk to be had.

 

With a great deal of reluctance Thranduil handed Legolas to his wife, watching with a worshipful gaze as she brought their son to her chest to feed.

 

"You have made me the happiest elf in all of Arda, and I suspect all of Valinor as well" he whispered, finally allowing his tears to fall.

 

She smiled up at him for a brief second, face alight with joy, before turning her attention back to the infant suckling at her breast. "I knew I would love him…" she started, voice filled with wonder, "but I did not imagine it would be like this."

 

Thranduil nodded, throat tight, for he knew exactly what she meant. He loved his wife beyond measure, and knew she loved him just as well. But he would do anything to keep his son safe and happy, and always by his side.

 

"Shall we allow your parents in?" She asked suddenly as Legolas fell asleep, hunger sated.

 

Thranduil thought for a moment, before ruefully nodding. "We should, I suppose," he said dryly. Though truthfully he never wanted this moment to end, never wanted to break the spell over the room.

 

He stood, making his way to the door to let the guard outside the royal chambers know to fetch the King and Queen. His mother had, of course, already seen her little grandson, had been the one to deliver him and clean him, but had left to allow the new parents time to bond. He knew she was desperate to see him again. His father's reaction was less sure, but Thranduil could hardly disallow the King of Greenwood to see his grandson, the second in line to the throne.

 

Confident that the loyal guard would deliver his message he made his way back to his wife and son, content to bask in their presence a little longer.

 

His parents would be there soon, and eventually the court would have to see their little Legolas as well. But they had some time yet to bask as new parents.

 

On the balcony's railing, unnoticed by the besotted couple, a bird began to sing.

 

**_###_ **

 

**_S.A. 3400, midsummer_ **

 

Thranduil walked into his father's office, stopping in the doorway to watch the scene before him.

  
  


Legolas had originally going to be spending the day with his grandmother, his mother coming when he needed to feed before going back to her own duties. Falathiel had agreed to watch the archery trials for the young archers, and though they would all welcome the tiny prince's presence, the Queen had declared she would take care of her grandson for the day. Seeing the expression in her normally kind amber eyes, no one had had the strength to refuse her. Queen Huorial had always wanted more children, and Thranduil knew she still felt anger and grief over the injury she'd sustained in Doriath's fall. She'd barely escaped with her life, and would never be able to safely carry another child. Oropher in turn loved his wife far too much to risk getting her with child, even if she herself was willing to try.

 

Apparently the King had nerves of steel, for he had little Legolas in the crook of his strong arm, his wife nowhere in sight. Thranduil could not even begin to guess how he convinced Queen Huoriel to relinquish her grandson.

 

"Adar," Thranduil said as he entered the room, dropping stacks of parchment and tightly rolled scrolls on his father's massive oak desk.

 

His father did not spare him a glance, choosing instead to dangle a lock of his hair over the infant's face, watching with an indulgent expression as little Legolas made a desperate grab for the blonde tresses. He missed, as he had little coordination at his tender age, but tried again with a happy noise, smiling toothlessly up at his grandfather.

 

"I owe you an apology," Oropher suddenly spoke up, pulling his gaze from his grandson to his own grown child.

 

Thranduil arched a dark brow, looking down at his father. He was tall, even for an elf, and had surpassed his father in height before becoming fully grown. 

 

"For?" He intoned, sitting elegantly in a chair by the open window. It was summer now, and there was an inviting breeze wafting into the wonderfully cluttered office.

 

Oropher leaned back in his chair, regal and stern. In his arms, Legolas yawned, and Oropher adjusted him to lie on his chest, one broad hand stroking the impossibly small back to lull him into sleep. Thranduil remained silent, waiting for his sire to speak. He had an inkling as to what his father was talking about, but wanted the elder elf to bring it up himself.

 

Oropher had seen much in his years, Thranduil knew. He had been born in the Year of The Trees, and though Oropher had chosen not to continue on the journey to Aman his own father and Grandfather had, leaving him to stay in Doriath under his Great-Uncle Thingol's rule. They had been happy there, though Thranduil had only been a young child, and Doriath's destruction had left gaping scars on his father's very soul. His wife had nearly been killed, his uncle murdered by dwarves, and many of his kin slaughtered. He bore deep grudges against dwarves, as well as the Noldo after the actions taken by the Sons of Fëanor in the Second Kinslaying. He had fought in the War of Wrath alongside the Valar themselves, and witnessed the ruin of Thangorodrim and the sinking of Beleriand. He had seen things in which no one should bear witness, and yet witness them he had, surviving and taking his scattered people to the forests of Greenwood the Great, where he'd been welcomed by their Silven brethren as their Lord and King.

 

Thranduil truly could not blame his father for his stoicism or coldness. Oropher had protected him and saved him when the Dwarves had attacked Doriath, then saved him again when the Sons of Fëanor came to fulfill their oath, destroying the once great realm once and for all. He had protected him and those following him when, declining to Sail to Valinor as so many of his kin had, he had instead crossed over the Blue Mountains at great danger to establish his realm. By all rights he should have sailed, should have gone over the sundering sea to rejoin his own father and grandfather, but had not. He had said, once long ago, that he felt Thranduil was still needed in Middle Earth, as were those who were yet to be born.

 

"Adar?" He promoted when it became apparent that the King was not going to continue.

 

Oropher let out a small breath, careful not to disturb the elfling asleep on his broad chest. "I have not always been a good father to you," he finally said, meeting Thranduil's eyes fearlessly.

 

Thranduil fought not to react, keeping his expression neutral and gaze clear.

 

"I look at you and Legolas," Oropher continued, "and realize just how cold I have been. I have always ensured you were safe, that you wanted for nothing, and that you received the best education possible. But I was not a kind father."

 

Thranduil shifted in his chair, leaning forward. "You are what life has made you," he gave in return. "Though we do not get along often, I have never doubted your love for me."

 

Oropher smiled, though it was tinged with a great deal of regret. "That, I suppose, is a blessing. One most likely due to your mother."

 

Thranduil snorted, inclining his head a small amount in agreement. "May I ask something?"

 

"Given what we are already discussing, of course."

 

"What brought this on?"

 

His father laughed aloud, a wonderful and rarely heard sound, looking at his only child in amusement. "Do you not know?"

 

"I suspect," Thranduil capitulated, "but would rather hear it from you."

 

Oropher looked down again at the sleeping baby on his chest. "When you and Falathiel announced this little one was coming I was terrified," he started. "I may not like it, but war is coming. It may not be as terrible as the War against Morgoth was, but it will not be easy. Any of us could fall, like it or not. Greenwood itself could fall, and where would that leave him?"

 

Thranduil gave his father a gentle yet firm look, one that he had learned from his mother, who had frequent cause to use it as a healer. She had used it one him many times over the course of his life. "Do you think we do not know that?" he chided. "But as I said, I am unwilling to allow evil to dictate my life."

 

Oropher rolled his eyes. "You do not allow much to dictate your life," he pointed out. "I should not have been so surprised." He sighed. "Seeing you with him… it makes me regret much in my life. I am sorry for how I have treated you, how our relationship has been strained at times. I always have been, but until this one came into Arda, could not find it in myself to apologise."

 

Thranduil's hard countenance softened despite himself. "I have met my share of elflings," he said. "But there is something about Legolas…" he trailed off.

 

But Oropher understood. "There is," he agreed. "All elves are beloved of Ilúvatar, of course. We are his children, the Firstborn. Legolas seems even more beloved." He raised an elegant brow, nodding to the open window. Several birds had flown in, bringing gifts for the little Prince. A wolf, barely beyond being a cub herself, had settled close to Oropher's feet, and would gaze up at the baby whenever he moved. Thranduil knew the forest loved his father, and loved him more. But Legolas had inspired another level of devotion, and he had not yet rolled over or broken his first tooth.

 

"I asked Falathiel if it is because he is Silvan as well as Vanyar and Sindar. She did not know, but asked several of the Silvan Elders."

 

"And?" Oropher was incredibly wise himself, but even he bowed to the wisdom of the ancient elves who lived in their forest.

 

Thranduil shrugged, allowing himself the casual gesture for a change. They were not in formal court, and he was truthfully too worried about the odd reactions his son had received to care about decorum. "They did not answer as such, but they clearly know something, or at least sense something, about Legolas." His lips twisted in a grimace. "Thalion says the trees have been waiting for him," he named the eldest elf in the forest, one who had seen uncountable centuries.

 

Oropher did not reply, but cuddled the little form closer. Legolas made a happy noise in his sleep, always full of joy when he was held by one who loved him dearly. "The forest knows much more than we elves ever could," was all Oropher said.

 

Thranduil did not reply. He did not want his precious child to be anything other than a normal elf, one who was happy and loved.

 

His father gave him a look, but let the issue pass. "No matter the destiny the Valar have for him, no matter how much you wish it weren't so, what is meant to happen will happen. But for now…" he trailed off, giving the small infant in his arms a gentle smile. Thranduil did not think he'd ever seen his father with such a kind expression. "For now he is safe and happy. Treasure that," he ended, the smile slipping from his face, a melancholy expression taking its place.

 

"He really has you wrapped around his finger," Thranduil noted, choosing to tease rather than make note of his father's uncharacteristic display of emotion. He appreciated what his father was doing, but also did not want to push the older elf too far too quickly. He was patient, and could easily wait in this case. He did not want to force a reconciliation, but rather allow it to grow organically.

 

The King snorted. "He has the entire kingdom wrapped around his finger," he countered.

 

Thranduil did not argue, knowing it was true.

 

Several moments of silence followed, broken only but Legolas' small breaths, deep with sleep.

 

"Take him, go to one of the gardens," Oropher finally ordered, not bothering to look up from his little grandson.

 

Thranduil looked over at the stack of scrolls he'd placed on the desk, giving them a look.

 

His father shook his head. "I'll take care of those," he offered.

 

Thranduil's other eyebrow rose. His father was notorious in his hatred of paperwork of any kind, often foisting it on his son or advisors.

 

The old King caught the look, and returned it with one of his own. "Do not let my kindness pass, ion-nin," he warned, though his expression was soft. He was still holding Legolas, after all.

 

Thranduil, listening to his father without argument for a rare change, stood, reaching for his baby with careful hands. Legolas did not wake when his father took him, sensing the hands cradling him were ones that loved him dearly and would keep him safe, but let out a small sigh before settling deeper into elvish dreams. Thranduil knew his expression was unprincely and overly soppy, but did not care. The warm form cuddled in his arms was a balm to his soul. It felt as though nothing could be wrong as long as Legolas was safe and content and with him.

 

The wolf, sensing the baby was leaving, trotted to his side along with two birds. The birds, knowing the elfing was sleeping, were helpfully quiet. The wolf looked up at Thranduil expectantly, content to wait at his side and watch over Legolas.

 

"We will speak further soon, ion-non," Oropher offered, already looking down at the mass of scrolls in front of him.

 

Thranduil was not offended, nor surprised. His father had difficulty in expressing emotion, even to his wife and son. Part of it was his history, but most of it was from the sheer force of his personality.

 

He inclined his head to his father rather than bowing, not wanting to risk disturbing Legolas in his sleep, and left the room. He intended to take full advantage of this unexpected time with his son.

 

The wolf trotted at his heels, pink tongue lolling out of its mouth, not caring that the birds had decided to use her as a mode of transport rather than fly through the corridors. He met several elves on his way to the gardens, most of whom stopped to smile at Legolas' sleeping face, or allow the wolf to sniff at their hands, uncaring of the predator in their midst.

 

They knew it would not hurt them. There was nothing in the woodland realm that would harm the elves that lived there.

 

Thranduil nodded his thanks to a guard who opened the doors to the gardens for him, walking through the dense foliage with ease. It was the middle of summer, and greenery was abound. Birds flew from tree to tree, chirping happily. The two riding on the wolf's back took off, joining in the song. The wolf padded off, settling herself in a clear spot of grass.

 

Thranduil shrugged off his outer robe without jostling Legolas easily, laying it on the soft ground beside the wolf, before laying the now stirring infant on it and settling beside him, content to watch as Legolas returned to the waking world.

 

He knew the moment his son come to full wakefulness, kicking his bare legs happily. He made a happy noise, grinning up at his Adar in perfect happiness.

 

Unable to resist, Thranduil leaned over to kiss the chubby cheek, and chucking when a small hand took hold of his hair. Legolas tried to bring his hand to his mouth, but did not yet have the coordination and it took him several tries. Thranduil allowed it, not caring in the slightest that his hair was quickly becoming covered in his sons drool.

 

Legolas had gotten worse on his hair, after all.

 

His father had given him much to think about, and he knew he would be discussing the conversation at length with his wife once she was finished with her duties.

 

But for now he would think of nothing but his son, the most important thing in all of Arda.

 

**###**

 

**S.A. 3400, late summer**

 

"I need you to promise me something," Falathiel said as she put a barely awake Legolas in the centre of the bed.

 

"Anything," he replied, only half listening. He was already in the massive bed, propped up against several fluffy pillows, and was too busy staring at his son to truly pay attention to his wife, no matter how serious her tone.

 

She shook her head in amused exasperation, moving to sit cross legged on the bed. She took his hand. "Thranduil. I need you to listen. This is about Legolas."

 

He tore his gaze from his son's sleeping visage, instead searching his wife's face with keen blue eyes. 

 

"I am not going to like this, am I?" he asked rhetorically.

 

She answered anyway. "No, but it has to be said nonetheless."

 

He tightened his grip on her hand, supporting her without words. She was one of the smartest elves he knew, but was not one for grand declarations. If she was making such a fuss over something, it was sure to be incredibly important.

 

"I…" she trailed off, mouth twisting. "We both know that war is coming. Soon, even by mortal reckoning. I cannot help but feel…" she trailed off again, giving a worried Thranduil a watery smile before directing her eyes to their son. "Feel that one of us will not come back." She held up the hand not holding his to forestall him from replying. "It may be just that, a feeling, but you know my brethren are prone to moments of prescience, and you trust my instincts."

 

"I do," he agreed in a near silent voice. "Must as I wish, in this moment, that I did not."

 

She chucked. "I need you to promise me something, and I shall make the same promise to you. If one of us does fall, the other cannot fade. No matter how hard that is, no matter how painful it will be, we cannot leave Legolas parentless. And he not leaving Middle Earth anytime soon."

 

He closed his eyes.

 

She was right, he knew this. He did not share in her sometimes vague prescience ability, but even he knew it was doubtful they would both survive the battles to come. "I love you, meleth-nin," he replied. "But I love Legolas more. The only way I would ever leave him is if I am killed. No matter our fates, we will meet again in Valinor. If I fall Legolas will need you here far more then I will in Mandos Halls, or Valinor when I am returned to life."

 

She kissed him on the cheek. "I am glad we are in agreement," she said. 

 

"Though it pains me to think of living without you, Legolas is more important. And much more precious than either of us."

 

She lay down, still holding his hand tightly in her own. "I love you, husband."

 

"And I you, so very much."

 

In the middle of the bed, Legolas made a soft sound, only settling when his mother and father both lay on either side of him, always happiest when he was in the presence of both of his loving parents.

 

They didn't sleep that night, instead choosing to hold each other and watch over their son as he slept and fed. The war would be soon, but they still had time left before they would have to leave their son and head for battle. Until then they would ensure that he knew how very beloved he was by both of them, and how much they loved each other. If one of them fell he would need those memories, faint as they may be. Neither parent wanted their son growing up believing one or both of his parents did not love him more than life itself.

 

When dawn's first light broke, and with it little Legolas, both Thranduil and Falathiel were all smiles again, not wanting their son to see their sadness. He smiled back, or at least tried to, his fëa all but shouting his joy and his love. Eventually, they would have to leave their chambers. They both had duties that needed attending, warriors that needed training, treaties looked over, meetings to get to… but they would make the most of the time that they had to spoil their son with love.

 

After all, they did not know how much time they had left. They had better take advantage of very second.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huoriel - Name meaning "Courageous" Dark auburn hair, amber eyes, Vanyar (youngest daughter of Ingwë), though I haven't decided where in her lineage she gets her dark hair from or who her mother is, considering she's unnamed in canon. Maybe she's just special. I mean, not all Vanyar have blond hair, right? Maybe? She is one of Greenwood's Head Healers. Married to Oropher since the Year of the Trees.
> 
> Falathiel - Name meaning "Huntress", Silvan elleth, black hair and green eyes. One of the Commanders in Greenwoods Army, married to Thranduil since the middle of the Second Age.
> 
> Do I love the Sons of Fëanor? Yes, yes I do. Do I think anyone who witnessed Doriath's destruction would? No, no I do not. I feel like Thranduil will still bring them up when he's annoyed at a Noldo. 
> 
> Very AU, and very made up for Oropher's backstory here, but I had fun making it up, and that's all that matters. Cause SOMEONE (aka the Professor) gave us literally nothing concerning Oropher and the rest of his family, a fact that still irks me. But I won't complain too much, as it allows me to form my own backstory.
> 
> Loved it? Hated it? Please tell me what you thought!


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